


Crazy for Love

by mihomi98



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:33:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 63,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9311693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mihomi98/pseuds/mihomi98
Summary: Life has never been easy for Enjolras Macray. When he gets caught burning a house down and gets sent to the Attley Mental Institution, though, his life gets even more complicated when he finds himself falling in love with his roommate, Grantaire, and starts hallucinating a young woman walking around the hospital. Now, he is plagued with memories that he isn't quite sure are his own, and he must figure out just who exactly he is, before the young woman takes over his mind, and he loses himself completely.





	

1

 

Enjolras had never liked fire growing up, but as an adult, lighting fires had become one of his favorite pastimes.

He wasn’t sure whether it was the bright colors, the smoky smell, the crackling sound, or the warmth that it provided, but there was just something about it. It calmed him down whenever he was stressed, and gave him that little sense of glee that he always felt when he did something that he could be proud of.

The best part of setting fires, though, was watching the way that it could destroy everything that a person owned in just a few simple seconds, be it a few measly pieces of paper and a match, or an entire house and a blowtorch.

It wasn’t that Enjolras was a bad person, or that he  enjoyed taking things away from people who worked hard for what they had, and did unto others what they wanted done to them. It was the people that stepped on others to get what they wanted, or the people who purposely made other peoples’ lives a living hell that he worked his magic on. With the help of some latex gloves and a few tissues, he had been able to fix several of the wrongs of the world that the cops were just too lazy to pay attention to. If they wouldn’t do their jobs, then Enjolras just had to take matters into his own hands.

Tonight was one of his favorites: a nice little two-bedroom, one-bathroom house with a lovely wrap-around porch and an herb garden, while the occupant was away doing something that he really should not be doing.

Enjolras was like an artist, building up the layers of his work until it was a masterpiece. First came the lovely clear liquid, which he made sure was placed in an even along the baseboards and the siding of the house. Next, a few simple sticks of wood, lit fully by a quick swipe across a line of red. Smoke was added to the background as the foreground turned dark brown and black, followed by the awe-inspiring gray of the charred windows.

It was a sight to behold.

Enjolras smirked, sticking a hand into his pocket and pulling out his pack of cigarettes. He opened the package and removed a stick. He stuck it into his mouth and crouched next to the fire, balancing on his heels as carefully as he could as he inhaled, letting out a quiet sigh when the end of his cigarette began to burn.

He straightened back up, letting the cigarette rest in his mouth as he peeled off the latex gloves that were covering his hands. He had done this to more than enough soul-sucking companies and politicians to know exactly what he needed to do not to get caught. He balled up the gloves and took the cigarette back out from between his lips as he walked to the edge of the yard where he had left his backpack. He pulled out a Ziploc bag and shoved the gloves in, making sure that bag was tightly sealed before stuffing it into the bottom of his bag.

His work was done. He gave the burning house one last look, smirking as the roof caved in and crashed through the second-story bedroom towards the ground. He began the walk back to his car, his mind whirring as he thought about what he had just destroyed. There was a man, Michael Fomay, who purchased brides from eastern European countries strictly to sell them at a higher price to wealthy businessmen who thought better with their wallet and their dicks than they did with their head. Enjolras had done his research beforehand, and he knew that Michael kept 90 percent of his forged documents locked tightly into the den on the first floor.

Sure, Enjolras could have broken into the house and stolen the papers, maybe given them to the police even, but he was not that kind of man. When he did something, he didn't half-ass it. Burning only the papers would just be laziness, and turning them in . . . well, Enjolras would never do anything to help a cop, even if it meant saving his own skin. He would rather die by lethal injection or by the chair than he would show a single morsel of respect for those fools. No, burning the whole house had to be done.

Enjolras hoisted his backpack higher on his shoulder, taking one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of his boots. He zipped up his jacket and lifted the hood, making sure that none of his shoulder-length golden curls were visible under the streetlights that he was trying to stay desperately away from.

He crossed his arms over his chest, letting his mind wander back to the feat he had just accomplished. He definitely was becoming quite the skilled arsonist, and he had to admit, he was loving every minute of it. He used to set up protests and rallies to make a change in the world, but the older that he got, the more that he realized that if he wanted things done right, he needed to do it himself. He needed to take direct action into destroying the lives of all these horrible men and women, and of all of the ways he had learned, arson had quickly become his favorite.

One thing that Enjolras had not mastered, was keeping himself out of harm's way. He had gotten shot at four times, nearly stabbed eight, and beaten by the police force at least a dozen times. He had broken enough bones to build an entire human body, and he had knocked out more teeth (both real and fake) than he could count.

He had never gotten injured lighting a fire, though. Fire wasn’t a person, and it didn’t seek to harm him just because he was going against what it was that Big Brother wanted. It only followed his commands, and if he commanded it to stay away from him, it did.

Curbs, though, they didn’t care about what he wanted.

He barely even noticed when everything went black.

 

***

 

When Enjolras finally awoke up several hours later, his head was pounding and his mouth felt like it was made of cotton. He opened his eyes slowly, letting out another groan where he saw where he was. The walls were a dull gray, and the only light in the room came from a dim yellow light swinging back and forth in the hallway just outside the bars. All around him, he could hear the sounds of men cursing at the guards, and drunken prostitutes crying and bargaining to be set free so that they could make their rent and feed their kids.

He had to admit, though, this cell was a lot nicer than the one he normally found himself crammed into after rallies and protests with all of his companions. He had _plenty_ of space to kick back and stretch his legs. In fact, he could get used to staying in a place like this. Sure, he had a bed to go to at nearly every one of his fellow protestor’s homes, but that was more of a lumpy, smelly couch than a nice, cool cot. Hell, he even had his own toilet. Sure, he would be in the eyes of the guards whenever he used it, but he didn’t have to wait around for someone else to hurry up and finish.

Speaking of guards, they were another species of people that Enjolras couldn’t stand. They roughed people up just for the fun of it, and acted like they were oh-so tough just because they were the ones on the other side of the bars, even when they deserved to be the ones serving their time. Enjolras had seen more than enough unarmed people get shot simply for having a different color of skin, regardless of whether they were armed or not. It was disgusting, to say the least.

He couldn’t avoid them forever, though, and eventually, one of the guards dragged his red, pig-like face and his swollen abdomen from the guard’s station at the head of the hall. He nodded at Enjolras, taking a sip of his coffee before walking towards his cell, his hand in his pocket. Enjolras narrowed his eyes at him, waiting until he was nearly to the cell before lunging forward and shooting a wad of spit at him, hitting him directly in the face. The guard's eyes began to blaze with fury, but he did not retaliate. Instead, he closed his eyes for a few seconds and began to count, his mouth moving silently.

Enjolras let out a laugh. “What, are you too chicken-shit to tell me what you think of me?” The guard did nothing. Enjolras spat on him again. “You disgust me, you cow. Tell me, how many of the higher ups did you have you to suck-off to get lucky enough to guard this hell-hole?”

The guard continued to count silently. Eventually, though, the guard reopened his eyes and pulled the keys to the cell out of his pocket. He gestured towards the front of the jail with his head as he undid the lock. "Your bail has been paid," he said, pulling the door back and holding it open. Enjolras said nothing to him before spitting on him again and heading towards the entrance.

If he had had any sort of a conscious, Enjolras would have felt a bit of guilt for how he treated a man who had just been doing his job. He didn’t, however, so he really didn’t care _how_ the man felt about what had happened, it was his fault for working the job in the first place.

Once upon a time, Enjolras had admired cops, and what they did. He had looked up to them, and had even wanted to be one, for a while. When he saw how twisted they were, and how much they got away with, however, his desires had quickly changed. He had admired his parents, too, but when he saw how self-centered and materialistic _they_ were, that love went away even quicker. All they cared about was their money, and whether or not their name was still in the papers as being the Best in Town.

It didn’t come as any surprise, then, when his father showed up to bail him out of jail.

“Hello, son. We need to talk.”

 

2

Enjolras narrowed his eyes at his father before rolling them and walking away. He had no need to spend any time talking to the man. They had done more than enough talking three years earlier, when Leroy Macray and his wife, Vivien, had given Enjolras the boot and told him he was no longer welcome in their four-billion-dollar home any longer due to the shame that Enjolras was bringing to the family with his riots and protests. He had only been twenty-one, and had nowhere to go. He swore that he would never speak to his parents again, but yet, after every police encounter, one of them was there, trying to get him to talk.

Enjolras had almost reached the door when Leroy called out to him. "Your patrol officer says that you and I have to meet him in an hour's time. You have no choice; you have to come with me."

Enjolras stopped short, grinding his teeth together. He had two options here: ignore his father, and go back to long-term jail, or see his patrol officer, and hopefully get off scot-free. Besides, he didn't even know for certain that he was here because of the arson. For all he knew, some cop found him on the street and just felt like bringing him in. Everything could be fine.

It only took a few seconds before Leroy caught up to Enjolras. He gently placed the palm of his hand right below Enjolras' shoulder blade, but the younger man immediately let out a growl of irritation and arched his back as far away as he possibly could. Leroy held his hands up in defense before opening the door and stepping out onto the cement stairs. He led Enjolras to his brand-new cherry-red Lamborghini and unlocked the doors. He waited until he was sure that Enjolras wasn't going to bolt away before getting into the car.

The drive was silent. At first, Enjolras thought they were going straight to his PO's office, but when Leroy skipped the turn, Enjolras knew that that wasn't the case. He recognized the gaudy, resplendent houses that lined the streets to the east of the Macray mansion. He ground his teeth again, making his hands into fists and digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand. Leroy had tricked him.

When the car pulled up to the driveway arching towards the French doors, Enjolras had turned his anger completely onto his father. "There is no fucking way that I am staying here." He reached a hand up and pulled his hair back into a low ponytail before shaking his head. "No fucking way."

Leroy made a face of disgust at his son's language, but he said nothing out loud. He simply stepped out of the car and made his way to the front door, which he held open. Enjolras stared at him for a moment before getting out of the passenger side and turning toward the street.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, son, unless you want to go back to jail," Leroy said, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. He raised an eyebrow in warning.

Enjolras rolled his eyes before spitting on the ground. "How do I even know that Peter really is coming over here?" Leroy didn't respond. Enjolras let out a bitter laugh before walking halfway down the driveway. He turned around, though, when he heard a new voice.

"Your parents are right, Mr. Macray. It really would be better for you if you just stayed, especially with the deal that I am willing to make you." Enjolras turned around to see a middle-aged woman in a black pencil skirt and a dark-red blouse walking from the back gardens with his mother, whose golden hair glinted in the sunlight, just like Enjolras' did. He flinched at the clicking of the woman's heels echoed across the yard and shot into his brain like bullets.

"Who are you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms, leaning back on his right leg in annoyance. He raised an eyebrow while he waited for her to speak. "You aren't Peter."

The woman shook her head. "My name is Norah Lemmings, and I am the District Attorney for Judge Kendricks."

Realization hit Enjolras hard as he realized that he had been caught. At first, he wanted to run, but he had spent enough time fighting cops at protests to know that he could run all that he wanted, but being a coward didn't get his message across. If he wanted the world to change, he needed to stand his ground, be that meaning burning down a house, or facing a District Attorney. Besides, Judge Kendricks and him had a long past with one another, and she always tried to be as lenient with him as she possibly could anytime he was in her chamber. If he stayed put, he would get a much better sentencing.

Norah continued on. "I spoke to Judge Kendricks this morning, and we have come to an agreement of sorts about what to do with the trouble you got yourself in last night." She stared at Enjolras for a moment before turning to his parents. "I'm sorry, but is there a place where your son and I could talk privately?"

Vivien nodded, leaving her place from Norah's side to walk towards the front doors. "Follow me, and you two can speak in the living room." She began to walk.

Norah stopped her. "Can't Enjolras show me the way by himself?"

Vivien flushed, and she stepped down away from the doors hurriedly. "Of course, of course. Leroy and I will just go to the gardens." She took her husband's hand before looking into the house and yelling in a tight voice, "Marianna! Bring Leroy and me some cakes and strawberry lemonade to the garden please." She did not wait for a response before pulling the dark-haired man away.

Enjolras watched his parents for a moment before sighing, turning back to Norah. "Right this way." He walked back up the drive and into the house, keeping his eyes trained to the floor as he walked through rows and rows of family pictures that he had been burned out of. Sure, his parents were helping him now, but he knew that they were only doing it so that no one would find out that the person sharing their name had been thrown into prison, again.

It took several minutes, but they eventually reached the sitting room. Norah sat down on one end of a garnet velvet loveseat, while Enjolras sat down in the adjacent seat of the same fabric. He looked around the room, trying his hardest to focus on the ugly paisley wallpaper rather than on his sentencing.

Norah, however, was not so keen on the distraction. She cleared her throat impatiently before saying, "Enjolras, look at me, or I will change my deal." Enjolras did as he was asked. She smiled. "Good. First off, would you like to tell me why you burned that man's house down? Honest answer, please, as I will be reporting everything that you say back to Judge Kendricks, word for word."

Once again, Enjolras realized it would be better to keep Judge Kendricks in his favor. She had done a fair deal of protesting in her time, and it had been that that made her decide to be a judge. "I knew that the man who lived there was buying and selling girls. He had papers in an office that I needed to get rid of in order to stop his business, but I did not know if there was anything else there that needed to be destroyed."

Norah pulled a notebook out of her purse and scribbled down what he said. She nodded before looking up. "Enjolras, I hope you know that in addition to your past, last night is going to put quite a large hold on your life. If you had just been found near the house, that would have been one thing, but you had everything on you."

Enjolras nodded. He couldn't remember even leaving the house, so he had to of had the stuff with him when he was found. There was no other option. "So . . . where does that leave me?"

Norah cleared her throat. "Have you been taking your medication lately?"

"I don't see how that is any of your business." Enjolras was taking Ambien to sleep, Zoloft for his depression, and a cocktail of other medications to deal with his anger issues . . . and no, he had not taken them in the last six months.

"It is entirely my business. If you haven't been taking them, or your dose has been wrong, then you could claim insanity. I know that I am not your lawyer, but Judge Kendricks would rather see you spending a year in a mental hospital getting better from your illness and getting back to protesting, than spend the next decade locked behind bars."

Enjolras was nodding along, not really paying much attention. When Norah mentioned the mental hospital, though, his attention was caught. "Mental hospital?"

Norah nodded. "Yes. That is my deal. Either get treatment and go back on your medication, and try  _new_  medication, and get out in a year. Stay off your medication, and rot in jail." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and locking her fingers. "So, what will it be?"

Six hours later, Enjolras was eyeing the Attley for the very first time. From the outside, it wasn't much to look at. It was made of a gray stone, and had small windows dotting the building from behind bars. There were only a few trees, and the entire yard was surrounded by a wrought iron fence.

Judge Kendricks had decided to accompany Enjolras on his ride down to the Attley, as she had done in the past with some of the other criminals she had taken a fancy to. She gave him a smile as they were let onto the property and led up to the door. A security guard nodded at Enjolras before telling Judge Kendricks that she would not be allowed inside. She nodded before pulling Enjolras into a hug. "I will keep supporting justice on my end, and you get through this so you can support it on yours."

"I will, Judge Kendricks. Thanks." Enjolras pulled out of hug. He watched as the older woman walked back down the path, her purple-red bob glowing against her pale skin. He turned to the guard, who unlocked the door and pointed Enjolras to an office at the end of the hall.

Enjolras began to walk. Before he was able to get to the office, though, he was stopped by a handsome man in a nurse's uniform with a warm smile. He had light-brown hair, and brown eyes. He put a hand on Enjolras' shoulder. "Hi. You're Enjolras Macray, right? Dr. Valjean is in a meeting right now, but he asked me to get you settled in and show you around." He led Enjolras to a room at the end of the hall that was full of gray sweatpants and white tee shirts. He grabbed one of each and tossed them to Enjolras. "Here, take these. You can change in the bathroom across the hall." He paused. "I'm Combferre, by the way."

Enjolras nodded and did as he was asked. He came back out a moment later, his own clothes in his hands. He handed them to Combferre, as well as his shoes. He had seen enough movies to know he couldn't keep his shoes with him.

Combferre smiled at him, tucking the clothes into the crook of his arm. "Great. I will show you around, then I will show you to your room. You can wait there or in the lounge for Dr. Valjean to see you." Enjolras nodded. Combferre began the tour, pointing out a few odds and ends like the community bathrooms and the medicine counter before taking him to the lounge, where there was a group of five guys lounging. Combferre didn't introduce anyone, but just a glimpse was all that Enjolras needed for now to know that some of these guys were nuts. "This floor is all guys, and the girls are all upstairs."

After several long minutes, they finally reached the room. Combferre grabbed a marker out of his pocket and scribbling down Enjolras' name on the dry erase board to the right of the door.

Enjolras looked into the room. It had plain white walls, and the same light brown carpet as the rest of the building. There were two beds. In the bed closest to the window, there was a man with curly black hair staring down at a sketchbook.

Combferre smiled at the man before looking back at Enjolras. "Enjolras, meet your new roommate. Grantaire."

 

3

Grantaire looked up at gave Enjolras a slight wave before looking back down at his sketch book and returning to whatever it was that he was working on. Enjolras strained his neck to look at the drawing, but he wasn’t at an angle that he was able to see. He shrugged before looking back at Combferre, who smiled at him warmly.

“Unless you need anything else, I’m going to get back to my job.” Combferre looked back and forth between the men. When neither one said anything, he nodded before turning back to Enjolras. “Dr. Valjean should finished with his meeting shortly.”

“Thank you.” Combferre left the room, and Enjolras went over the bed parallel to Grantaire’s. He sat down on the scratchy blue sheet and put his hand on the pillow, grimacing when he felt the hospital-like papery quality of the pillow case. He pulled his hand back and put it back on his lap before looking over at the inky-haired man. “So, what are you drawing?”

Grantaire didn’t move for several seconds. He stared down at the paper and dropped his pencil next to him before turning the pad around. The drawing was of some sort of monster coming up from the ocean in swirling mists and fire-like waves. The monster had seven eyes, three horns, and a forked-tongue that looked as though it extended the length of the creature’s body, if not longer, and Enjolras couldn’t be sure, but it was highly doubtful that an image as marvelous and realistic as this was drawn with a simple writing pencil.

Sure enough, Enjolras’ theory was proven when Grantaire turned his hand to close the book, revealing to Enjolras the thick black powder that coated each one of his fingers. Grantaire noticed the staring and smirked, murmuring, “Charcoal,” before reaching under the bed to grab a dust wad of tissues to wipe his hands clean.

Enjolras nodded, not really sure what to say. He had never had a creative bone in his body, and while he was impressed by people who could do art, he honestly felt that it was a waste of time, and quite a bit selfish. Grantaire’s drawing could _easily_ be adjusted so that it became a political cartoon, or a banner for one of Enjolras’ causes. But to keep it to himself like this, in a dirty notebook that Grantaire shoved under the mattress when Enjolras stared too long? No. There was more that Grantaire could have used that time for.

Fortunately, Enjolras was saved from having to say anything else by a knocking on his door. He looked up to see a man around fifty standing there, his smile warm and his eyes twinkling. He was wearing a pressed, crisp pair of trousers, a red button-down, a suit jacket, and a designed silver tie. He held his hand out to Enjolras in greeting, walking towards him. “Hello, Enjolras. My name is Dr. John Valjean, and I will be taking care of you during your stay here.” Enjolras shook his hand, but said nothing in return. Dr. Valjean didn’t seem to mind, though, as his smile only grew. He nodded at Grantaire before looking back at Enjolras and gesturing down the hall to where his office was. “If you’ll just follow me, we will start figuring out just what it is that you need from me.”

Dr. Valjean turned and walked out the door without a second thought. Enjolras watched him for a moment before standing up and following him. He looked at the men gathered in the common room, his stomach beginning to twist as he wondered what it was that he had gotten himself into. He hadn’t been nervous when he was faced with the decision between going to jail, or coming here. In his mind, he could easily get through one year in the loony-bin unscathed, but the more that he stared at the zombies collapsed on the faded gray couches, the more he regretted his decision. This was _exactly_ why he went off his medicine. He hated how it made him feel, and he was damn near positive that he was going to have more pills forced down his throat than a stubborn whore in a brothel on a Friday night.

It felt like years, but after only a few minutes, Enjolras was sitting down in Dr. Valjean’s red-leather desk chair, staring around the room at all of the pictures hanging on the wall. His eyes stopped on a picture of a young woman and a young man, their arms wrapped around each other. Enjolras wasn’t positive, as they were dressed fairly casually, but it looked like a wedding photo.

Dr. Valjean confirmed Enjolras’ suspicions. He followed Enjolras’ line of sight, getting up and taking the photo off the wall and handing it to Enjolras. “That’s my daughter, Colleen, and her husband, Eli, at their wedding three years ago.” He looked at the picture fondly. “They just recently told me that they are going to be giving me my first set of grandchildren come fall.”

Enjolras cleared his throat uncomfortably. He had never been comfortable with happy families, or any kind of romance. Having the two together just made his throat crawl and his stomach turn. “Uhm, congratulations.”

“Thank you, son.” Dr. Valjean took the frame back and put it back on the wall. He walked over to a mini-refrigerator behind his desk and pulled out two bottles of water. He handed one to Enjolras before taking a seat behind his laptop, which he opened and loaded up a document. He looked up at Enjolras. “All right, Enjolras, how about you tell me why you are here.”

Enjolras shrugged. “My options were either spend a year here, or ten years in prison. You can see why this was the better option.”

“Yes, yes, I knew that already. What I meant to ask, is why are you _here_. There are plenty of people across the country who go to jail every year for doing the same sort of crimes that you have done without being given the insanity plea. I also know that you and Judge Kendricks are close, but I personally have seen her send her own _son_ to prison rather than give him the plea because she believed that he was truly sane.” Dr. Valjean interlaced his fingers and leaned his elbows on the desk, raising his eyebrows and looking at Enjolras through his lashes. “So, why are you here?”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, his face growing flushed and his hands curling into fists. He ground his teeth and fought with every ounce of his willpower not to stand up and drive his fist straight into Dr. Valjean’s handsome face for even _insinuating_ that something was wrong. “I am here because Judge Kendricks wants me back on the street to continue on with my cause.”

Dr. Valjean nodded, and he typed something into his computer. He stared at his screen for a moment before looking back at Enjolras. He nodded. “If that is what you truly believe, then I will just have to dig deeper to find the true root of the problem.” He hit a button on his intercom. “Shelly, come in for a moment, please. I have my recommendation for Mr. Macray’s prescription.” He looked back at Enjolras. “You can go now.”

Enjolras stared at Dr. Valjean for a moment before letting out a heavy breath and standing up. He rolled his eyes and slammed the chair as hard as he could, hoping for some sort of a reaction. He got none. Instead, Dr. Valjean gave him another warm smile and a nod before turning back to his laptop.

Enjolras walked out of the room and back down the hall. He didn’t really want to go back to his room, but he wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to spend his afternoon sitting on the sofas with the Dope Squad, either. He didn’t really think that he had much of a choice, though. If he was going to be stuck here for three-hundred-sixty-five hellish days, he might as well try to find _someone_ he could talk to, or at least someone who he could prove to be inferior to him. He highly doubted that that would be a challenge.

As Enjolras went into the common room, he saw that Grantaire had come out of their room, and that he was sitting next to Combferre, who must have been on his break, as he was eating a sandwich and sipping at a red-colored drink. Grantaire and he were laughing about something, and there was a boy about eighteen or nineteen making faces at them and making them laugh harder.

Enjolras walked over to them. He sat down across from Combferre in an empty chair, giving him a smile before slouching down. Grantaire gave him a nod before turning back to the new boy. The new boy, though, was _far_ more interested in Enjolras than he was in whatever Grantaire was trying to tell him. He held his hand out. “Hi. I’m Courfeyrac.”

Enjolras took the hand. “Enjolras.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes widened momentarily. “ _Oh_ , so you’re the new patient that has these two’s minds all a flutter.”

Combferre rolled his eyes, but Grantaire flushed slightly. He ignored Enjolras in favor of continuing his conversation with Courfeyrac. “ _Anyway_ , like I was saying earlier, if Congress outlaws guns, which they shouldn’t, then we are going to have all sorts of people finding other ways to defend themselves, and with all the drugs in America these days, who’s to say―”

Enjolras cut Grantaire off, not even letting him finish his comment. “That’s blasphemous. Think of the children that have hurt themselves unintentionally because their parents had been allowed to have their guns in their homes. If there had been rules in place that stated that a person could not keep their gun at the same place as their children, then these children would still be alive today. Plus, with all the school shootings―”

“If places like _this_ were stigmatized less, and it wasn’t such a shameful thing to be in a mental ward, maybe these school shooters wouldn’t feel the _need_ to shoot anywhere up.” Grantaire narrowed his eyes. “Places like this, they take all sorts of people.”

Grantaire pointed across the room, to where a thin boy with sandy-brown was sitting on a mat in the corner of the room with his arms around his legs, rocking back and forth while he scrubbed at the carpet with a rag. “Take Joly, for example. He is a sever hypochondriac and a severe germaphobe, and frequently has panic attacks that come from nowhere.” He pointed to a feminine-looking boy lying back on one of the sofas, a book of poetry between his hands. “That’s Jonathon. He’s here for depression, and for suicidal thoughts. Just like the Columbine shooters.” He pointed to Courfeyrac. “Courfeyrac is here because his parents are homophobic assholes who think he can be ‘fixed’, but I suppose that could be bullying, which leads to more school shootings.” He grinned. “And me, I’m here because I’m a bipolar drunk who refuses to take his medication.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Regardless of whatever illness you all think that you have, that doesn’t determine what it is that you do, or whose lives you destroy. You are still in control of what you are doing, and having proper laws helps you to do that.”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, you aren’t. My sister, Mary Kate, is a schizophrenic spending the rest of her life in a maximum-security psych ward. She wasn’t on the right dose of her medication, and she thought that she was able to see angels and demons. She killed twenty-seven people in a restaurant one night because ‘God told her to’.” He shook his head. “Don’t tell me that she was in control that night. She fought it for years; lived every day and night in terrifying agony. She constantly saw people that weren’t there, heard things that hadn’t happened, and had no idea what she was or what she was doing three-quarters of her daily life.”

He shook his head. “My drinking on the other hand, yes, I know that I was in control of that, and I came here voluntarily when I broke my best friend’s collarbone just because I didn’t like what she made for dinner. I knew that my lows were bad, but I didn’t know how bad they were until I had gotten sober and I did that.”

Grantaire glared at Enjolras and pushed himself out of the chair. He leaned down in front of Enjolras and held his finger out threateningly, his lashes coated with angry tears and his voice tight. “Don’t you dare say that we are in control of our mental illnesses. They control us, not the other way around.” He stormed off in a huff, a flurry of curse words filling the air behind him.

Enjolras watched him, feeling slightly guilty. He loved arguing, and he knew that it was easy for him to be far more cruel than he meant to be. Maybe Dr. Valjean was right. Maybe he did need to be here.

Enjolras shook his head. No, he didn’t need to be here. He was only here because Judge Kendricks forced him to be. He would get through this year, and he would talk to these lunatics, but that’s all that he would get out of it. Nothing more, nothing less.

. . . but if he ended up becoming a bit nicer, maybe that wasn’t the worse thing to happen to him.

He looked back at Combferre and Courfeyrac, feeling a bit confused about what to do. He hadn’t felt like he was saying anything out of line, or something that would hurt more than just his opponent’s opinion. Guilt was not an emotion that he was familiar with. “Should I say something to him?” he asked the other two men, beginning to feel genuinely confused. Apologizing was something that he had never done either, and while he wouldn’t _apologize_ , per say, he could at least try to smooth over the air, so that living with the man wouldn’t make his experience any worse than it already was going to be.

Combferre shook his head. “No, he’s just a bit moody since they switched him to a lower dose of his medicine.” His eyes widened, and he paled. “Don’t tell anyone that I said that, or I’ll lose my job.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “Oh what a shame that would be, not being able to stare at that gorgeous ass of yours as you walk down the hall from room to room.” Combferre blushed a dark red. Courfeyrac laughed, reaching over to push Combferre playfully. “Oh, you’re too easy.” 

“Shut up.” Combferre ducked his head and hid his eyes. Courfeyrac chuckled and put a hand on his knee for a moment before pulling it back, a nervous look in his eyes. He bit his lip before turning back to Enjolras. “Combferre is right, though. Grantaire has been extremely up and down lately, especially since he found out that his sister had another psychotic break a few weeks ago. It really wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, what he said.” Combferre took the last bite of his sandwich and stood up. Courfeyrac looked at him and jutted his lower lip out.

“Leaving already?”

Combferre nodded. “Sorry, Courf, but I have to get back to my shift. Other patients on other floors to deal with, you know.”

“Fine, leave me here, all by myself, without your sexy body to keep me company.” Courfeyrac winked. Combferre blushed again and rolled his eyes, not saying another word as he turned on his heel and walked out of the common room.

Enjolras watched Combferre leave before turning back to Courfeyrac. “So, are you two . . . ?”

Courfeyrac looked confused for a moment before his eyes widened. He shook his head and reached up to card his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “Uhm, no. Not that I don’t want to . . . yeah.” He coughed. “Combferre doesn’t want me like that.”

Enjolras snorted. “Please. He so does.”

Now it was Courfeyrac’s turn to blush. He shook his head and looked at the floor. “Yeah, no.”

Enjolras was about to say more, but we was interrupted by Dr. Valjean appearing to his left. “Hello, boys,” he said, pushing up his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose. He hadn’t been wearing them when Enjolras had been in his office, but Enjolras had to admit, the guy was pretty attractive in them.

Just as quickly as the thought came across Enjolras’ mind, he pushed it down. His apprehension towards romance and family didn’t just come from his discomfort with both. He also just didn’t feel like he had time to deal with any of the crap that came with having feelings other than determination and anger at the injustices in the world. Even as a teenager, he had been far too busy with school to spend any time experimenting with his hormones. Hell, he wasn’t even sure which gender it was that he preferred.

Regardless, any attraction that Enjolras felt stir deep within his loins when Dr. Valjean loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves before leading Courfeyrac down the hall and to his office, it was just because he was getting used to this new place. It didn’t mean anything. 

Enjolras shook the thought off and looked around the room, trying to see if there was anything else that he could do before he went back to the dull, drab existence that he was sure he was going to go through as soon as he went back there. Although, if Grantaire was there, maybe they would get into another fight, and Enjolras could be entertained that way.

Regardless of if they fought or not, he really should go back to the room, even if it was just to make sure that Grantaire hadn’t gone into a rage and destroyed the few books that Enjolras had brought with him. He didn’t know what exactly mania was like for him, but he knew that when he flew into his own rages―not due to any mental illness, mind you―he destroyed everything in sight before he even knew what was going on. It was one of the reasons why some of his protests had ended up so violent. People would speak out against him, and before he knew it, he had beaten the opposition to a bloody lump on the ground, his own knuckles throbbing painfully and the skin ripped to shreds. No, he better ensure the safety of his prized tomes.

Luckily, it seemed that Grantaire had taken his rage out on a piece of sketching paper, which Grantaire had scribbled over so heavily with a piece of charcoal that Enjolras swore he could smell a faint hint of smoke in the room. The paper was lying on the floor next to Grantaire, while Grantaire was curled in the fetal-position and facing the wall. Enjolras knocked on the doorframe in an attempt to get Grantaire’s attention. “Hey.”

Grantaire looked over his shoulder, his solemn expression turning to one of disgust when he saw that it was Enjolras. “What do you want?”

Enjolras walked over to his own bed and sat down. “I just wanted to . . . ” He paused, thinking about his words. He never apologized to anyone; that was true. Something about seeing the raw emotion from Grantaire, though, got to him. He closed a deep breath, swallowing hard and trying to get his mouth to form the words. “I’m . . . sorry.”

Grantaire scoffed and rolled over. “Yeah, I can really tell.” He rolled his eyes. “You don’t know me. Why are you apologizing?”

Enjolras struggled to form words again. “Uhm . . .” He shook his head, unable to find a response. Why was he apologizing? Grantaire was right, Enjolras didn’t know him. Yes, they would live together, but Enjolras had years of practice living with his parents and ignoring them, so he was sure that he could do the same now, but something in him didn’t want to. He sighed. “Listen, I don’t know why I’m apologizing. I just know that it’s the right thing to do.” He reached a hand up and scratched the back of his head. “Can we start over? Try to be friends?”

Grantaire didn’t move for several minutes before, finally, he sat up and nodded. He held his hand out. “Hello. My name is Grantaire, and I am an over-emotional bastard who hates himself.”

Enjolras grinned and took his hand. “Hello, Grantaire. I’m Enjolras, and I am an asshole.” He winked. “Pleasure to meet you.”

 

4

 

By the end of the first night, Enjolras was already done with that stupid place. He had spent the rest of the day and the evening getting to know Grantaire and, once Combferre had gotten off work and left the facility, Courfeyrac. Enjolras wasn’t sure if he found Courfeyrac’s obvious interest in Combferre entertaining or annoying, and he and Grantaire had gone through nearly a dozen arguments in between dinner and lights out, but he had a feeling that having these two around would make the place at least slightly less horrendous.

Enjolras had also spent a few minutes apiece with Joly and Jonathon, but they were much more difficult to stomach than the other two. They were nice enough, but they didn’t really seem to be of the high educational caliber that he expected his friends to be at. Jonathon knew a lot about literature, and he went from speaking like a normal human to drifting into his mind and speaking only in verse. Enjolras was far smarter than most, but even he was lost when Jonathon started spouting out Keats. Joly was extremely smart, too, but his extensive knowledge of all of the germs found in the common house cleaner and all the ways that different bacteria could eat through his body was just too much for Enjolras to handle.

When Enjolras woke up one morning a little over a week later to the sound of an attendee banging on the door, however, his mood went south faster than he could blink. He had always been an early riser, but there was something different about knowing that he wasn’t allowed the option to do anything other than get up. He had spent so much time fighting for people to be free, and here he was, following some the schedule of some prissy doctor in a black suit-jacket and sophisticated frames. It made him sick.

Enjolras startled as he heard a sound from across the room. “Morning.”

Enjolras stared at the wall for a minute before remembering that he had a roommate, which was something that he had never had to deal with before. “Morning.”

Grantaire sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, letting out a groan as he pulled his tee shirt away from his chest. At some point, he must have begun to sweat profusely, as the shirt was soaked and Enjolras could see his dark brown nipples poking out, his tan skin gray in comparison. His face was rough with stubble, and he had a line of drool going from the corner of his mouth to his ear.

Enjolras shifted in his bed uncomfortably as he began to experience the unfamiliar sensation of his cock growing hard, something he had only felt five or six times since puberty. He yanked his eyes away from Grantaire and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force his mind to anywhere other than the other man. All he could think about, though, was that he guessed that he finally had an answer to what gender he preferred, at least based off appearance alone.

After thirty seconds or so, Enjolras was feeling calm enough to push the blanket back and get out of bed. He still wasn’t sure what the morning routine was , even after a week, so he stood awkwardly by the side of the bed while he waited to see what Grantaire did. When Grantaire grabbed his toothbrush, Enjolras did the same. When Grantaire left the room and walked down the hall, Enjolras did the same.

After Enjolras following Grantaire to both the shower and then the men’s room, Grantaire began to laugh. “Jeez, Enjolras, can’t you figure out how to do anything for yourself?”

Enjolras blushed and moved his hands up to his hair to tie it back low on his neck. Grantaire chuckled and nudged him with his shoulder. “Hey, I was only kidding. Lighten up.”

“Whatever.” Enjolras went into one of the stalls and forced himself to relieve his bladder, even though he didn’t really have to go, just to spite Grantaire. He went back out and washed his hands, refusing to look at Grantaire as he walked past him and out to the common room.

On a couch next to the wall, Courfeyrac was sprawled out with his legs thrown over the arm. Combferre was standing next to him holding a small cup of pills and a small cup of water, blushing furiously as Courfeyrac stared hungrily at Combferre’s crotch. When he saw Enjolras, though, he pulled his eyes away and sat up. He grabbed the cups out of Combferre’s hand and downed them both before walking over to Enjolras. “Hey, you!”

“Hey.” Enjolras held his hand out as Combferre gave him a single pill. He figured that if he stuck it under his tongue or something, he could just toss it later. Combferre was smarter than him, though, and made him open his mouth before running a glove-covered hand all around the inside of Enjolras’ mouth until he found the pill. He gave Enjolras a look before giving it again. Enjolras sighed and swallowed the tablet.

Combferre turned and gave Courfeyrac a withering look before turning and walking to the next patient. Enjolras watched him for a moment before looking back at Courfeyrac, his eyebrow raised. “I thought you said that you didn’t have any reason to be here other than because your parents suck.” He raised his eyebrow higher. “And why didn’t he check to see if you swallowed them?”

Courfeyrac waggled his eyebrows. “Because, dear Enjolras, I _don’t_ have anything wrong with me.” He reached into his mouth and pulled out a small pill, which he held out to Enjolras. “Combferre brings these to me twice a week. Here, I can spare this one. Take it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s morphine. Trust me, it will make today go a fuckton better.” He shrugged when Enjolras looked at him in confusion. “Combferre managed to get it on my chart that I was taking some cheap depression medicine, so I get those every day when he isn’t here, and the other ones whenever he is.”

“Uhm . . . isn’t that illegal?” Courfeyrac smirked. Enjolras shook his head before thinking back to what he had said. “Wait, what’s today?”

Courfeyrac’s eyes widened. “No one told you? Today is the day when the board comes in to ask every single one of us about our time here at the Attley, and pry into every corner of our brains until we feel like shit for being so weak to end up here.”

Enjolras thought back to what Grantaire said, about how the illness controlled the person, not the other way around. He wondered if that was what the board thought, too, or if they thought that the things that these people suffered from was something that they did to themselves. Hell, Enjolras still wasn’t sure what he thought about it. Jonathon, for example, he could easily see how he could have avoided staying out of the Institution. The same with Grantaire, seeing as he came here voluntarily. Joly, though? The man could barely come near other people without going into a full-on panic attack. He definitely needed help.

Enjolras looked at the pill in Courfeyrac’s hand. He grabbed it and tossed it into his mouth, swallowing it immediately before he could talk himself out of it. Courfeyrac smiled at him before getting distracted and looking somewhere behind him. “Hey, Grantaire! Over here!”

Grantaire came over, holding a hand out expectantly. Courfeyrac chuckled and began to raise his hand, stopping only when a young female attendee coughed at him. Courfeyrac gave her a wave before turning on his heel and looking back at his friends, rolling his eyes. He waited until Grantaire nodded before sticking his fingers in his mouth and grabbing another pill, which he dropped in Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire didn’t even hesitate before taking it.

“So, boys, are you all psyched up about dealing with those prats today?” Grantaire asked, leading the boys over to a table in the corner of the room with four fold-up chairs. Enjolras sat down across from Grantaire, spreading his legs out and crossing his arms.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “As long as I don’t get stuck with that same bitch as I did six months ago, I’ll be happy. I thought by the end of the day that she was going to jump me, with how often she was fluttering her eyelashes at me and running her fingers along my arm.” He shuddered. “God, I wouldn’t have wanted her even if she was a man.”

Grantaire snorted. “Are you talking about the skeleton-looking seventy-three-year-old, or the heavy-set woman with the mustache?”

“Mustache.”

“Yeah, I think she tried to hit on me, too, but I pretended to have an episode and went off on her. Scared her away fast enough.”

Courfeyrac started to laugh. “I remember that. You reduced her to tears before she had even gotten the chance to ask you her first question. And the time before that, you scared some new member away so quickly that Combferre almost got her job.”

Enjolras tuned back in to the conversation. “Wait, Courf, how long have you been here? I thought that Grantaire and you said that you were only here because your parents are homophobes.” He furrowed his brows, feeling even more confused. “Aren’t you over eighteen? Can they even put you in here for that?”

Courfeyrac dropped his eyes down to his lap, and didn’t say anything. Grantaire shot Enjolras a look before looking at Courfeyrac with sympathetic eyes. “Listen, Courf, you don’t have to—”

“No, it’s fine,” Courfeyrac interrupted. He shook his head before looking back at Enjolras. “I was still seventeen when I came here, so my parents were still the sole decision makers. I told them I was dating this guy from my school, and they freaked out. They kicked me out of the house, I had a nervous breakdown and begged them to take me back, they said I could only come home if I went somewhere to cure my ‘disease,’ and I ended up here.” He shrugged, a sad look in his eyes. “I don’t want to be straight, but I don’t want them to hate me, either, so I’ve just been biding my time here for the last eighteen months.”

Courfeyrac looked down at his lap again before looking back up. “Besides, here I know that I have a bed, and that I have food to eat. If I go back to my parents, I’ll be out on the street.”

“But how have you been here so long? Isn’t there, like, guidelines for when they are supposed to release you?”

“That’s where I come in,” Grantaire chimed in. “If a patient here gets into a fight with another patient while they are ‘in an episode,’ they get their stay extended under the premise that the patient is a danger to themselves and others. I just get Courfeyrac riled up and make him freak out, he panics, he lunges at me, he’s back. Simple.”

Enjolras shook his head. “All right . . . I still am not sure that I really understand why you don’t leave, though. Wouldn’t you rather be able to fight for your rights as a gay man out there than be forced to lie to your family in here?”

Courfeyrac looked stricken for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, looking back down at the ground. After a moment, he stood up and walked away in the direction of his room.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire in confusion. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. He truly had been curious about the man’s answer. If Enjolras was gay, he _much_ rather would be able to fight to be an equal citizen than he would sit aside and let whatever happens, happen.

Before Grantaire had a chance to answer, the doors to the common room flew open. Enjolras and Grantaire looked over to see a group of twelve people in suits walking in, clipboards in their hands and looks of determination on their faces.

The group split up, and two men came over to Grantaire and Enjolras. The taller of the two sat down next to Grantaire, while a stout, balding man with squinty eyes looked Enjolras over before saying, “Follow me.”

Enjolras stood up and did as he was asked. He followed the man to a room at the end of the hall, where they went in and sat down. The man pulled out his clipboard and said, “All right, the quicker you answer my questions, the quicker this will be over, all right? And be honest, because your answers will determine the quality of your stay here. Name?”

“Enjolras Scott Macray.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Date of birth?”

“March twentieth, nineteen-ninety-two.”

“Why are you here?”

“It was this or jail.”

The man nodded. He asked several more questions about Enjolras’ past and his emotional state before he put his clipboard down. Enjolras looked at him, surprised. He was expecting this to be a horrible experience, based off what Grantaire and Courfeyrac had told him. These, though, were the same sort of questions he received from his general doctor anytime he was there.

When the man pulled out a small bottle of a clear liquid and a syringe, though, Enjolras’ relief quickly went away. “Uhm, what is that for?” he asked, his eyes follow the syringe as the man filled it with the liquid.

The man smirked and shrugged. “This is just a little something to loosen you up, help us get more realistic answers about how you are feeling and how you react to things. Dr. Valjean doesn’t approve of this method, but this is to serve us, not him. It allows us to make sure that we don’t have the wrong, more dangerous sort of people around our fragile patients. Does that make sense?”

Enjolras stared at the man for several seconds before shaking his head. The man smirked again. “Several years ago we had a patient who was far too damaged for us to help, and we had to release her from our care. She had gone to max for murder during a schizophrenic episode, but came here when she tried to slit her wrists. She was only here for a few days when she killed three of her fellow patients.” He brought the needle towards Enjolras. “We had examined her before we admitted her, but she was dishonest in her interview. You see why we must check everyone here every few months.”

Enjolras nodded, trying to figure out why the story sounded so familiar to him. He wracked his brain, but he couldn’t come up with anything other than to flinch when the burning in his veins began.

The man finished pushing the solution in before pulling out the needle and placing the syringe on the table. “Yes, your friend Grantaire was so happy that his sister was out of max, but when she killed and we had to resort to ECT, he wished she was back there.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “And now we wait.”

 

5

 

“Enjolras! Are you okay? Fuck, man, what the fuck did they do to you?”

Enjolras opened his eyes slowly, looking up at the voice. His vision was blurry, and a horde of hornets had clearly taken up residence in his head. He winced at the searing pain that shot through his head when he sat up. Grantaire put a hand on him in concern and pushed him back down onto the bed.

“No, Enjolras, stay there. Seriously, what did they give you? Neither Courfeyrac or me have ever had a reaction like this to their serum shit.” He rushed over to the floor next to his bed and grabbed a bottle of water. He came back over and sat down next to Enjolras, sticking his fingers between Enjolras’s lips and prying the flesh apart until he could force the opening of the water bottle in. He placed his hand under the back of Enjolras’s neck and lifted gently, tilting the water bottle up and letting the water flow. Enjolras fought back, choking and sputtering on the liquid. Grantaire narrowed his eyes. “You need to drink it, Enjolras. You’re really pale.”

Enjolras took a large gulp before throwing his head back. The water bottle fell from his mouth and soaked the top of his white tee-shirt. “I’m fine,” he choked out, turning his head to the side when Grantaire tried to make him drink more. “Grantaire, stop. I’m fine.” He sat up slowly and moved over, giving Grantaire more room to sit.

Grantaire gave Enjolras worried look, but he didn’t say anything more about the water. He looked down uncomfortably at his hands and muttered, “Sorry I’m worried about you staying healthy.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, nudging Grantaire with his shoulder. “Don’t do that. I’m glad you care about me enough to worry about me. I’m glad I have someone who genuinely cares.” He shook his head, trying to ignore the warm feelings that filled his stomach at the soft smile that appeared on Grantaire’s face. He swallowed, looking at Grantaire out of the corner of his eye. “So, that serum stuff . . . do they do it to everyone?”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah. Ever since . . . uhm, yeah, they do.” His eyes grew sad, and the soft smile that he had had a moment ago fell as he trailed off.

Immediately, Enjolras felt bad for saying anything, a feeling that he was steadily growing used to when it came to Grantaire. Seeing the man sad for even a second made Enjolras feel like a terrible person, especially when it was his fault. Something in him just wanted to wrap Grantaire in his arms and make it better. He changed the subject. “So, did you or Courf scare anyone off today?”

Grantaire laughed softly, his eyes still staring blankly at Enjolras’ blanket. “No one came to talk to me today, surprisingly enough. Courf, though, he had this new guy eating out of the palm of his hand. Combferre didn’t stop glaring at the guy the entire time that they were there, even when the guy had moved on to Joly.”

Enjolras shook his head. “That’s why Courfeyrac just needs to suck it up and get out of here. Then they could be together without Combferre losing his job.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Yeah, we’ve talked about that, but staying here is far more worth it to him, because here, at least he can see Combferre every day, and have all of his basic needs. It’s just like me, really. Here is far safer than back in the real world.” He looked back up at Enjolras. “Valjean will probably come to talk to you soon. He makes appointments with all of his patients after their first shot of that shit. He will definitely want to see you, though, since you had such a bad reaction to it. Courf and me, we were a bit loopy for a couple of hours and we kept spouting out our secrets, but you? You couldn’t even talk, they gave you so much.”

Enjolras didn’t say anything. He didn’t really know _what_ to say. Sure, the truth-serum screwed with his head, but he didn’t really have any secrets to share, did he? He was pretty damn open about everything that he did, which was exactly how Judge Kendricks and he had gotten so close. Every question the lawyers asked him throughout the years, he answered proudly and honestly. He was bringing justice to the world, and he couldn’t do that with a dishonest tongue.

Grantaire, however, took the silence for worry. He put his arm around Enjolras’s shoulder and squeezed lightly, leaning his head against Enjolras’s hair. “Hey, it’s okay. Sometimes the meds here just affect different people differently. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He hesitated before kissing the top of Enjolras’s hair. “Trust me, there’s _nothing_ wrong with you.”

Enjolras froze as Grantaire’s lips moved down to make contact with his temple. His stomach began to tie itself into knots, and he was sure that if his hands sweated any more than they already were, Grantaire and he would soon find themselves using Enjolras’s bed as a flotation device, especially when Grantaire lifted a hand to cup the side of Enjolras’s face gently.

“Enjolras, can I . . . ” he trailed off, turning Enjolras’s face towards his and leaning their foreheads together. He hesitated before whispering, “Please, you haven’t pushed me away yet, so you must feel the same way about me as I do about you.”

Enjolras swallowed thickly, his heart beginning to race. What was it that he felt? He had never experienced attraction, much less actual _feelings_ towards someone, so how was he to know if he felt any specific way about Grantaire? Besides, Grantaire hadn’t flat-out said what his feelings were . . . and if Enjolras’s new response to Grantaire’s sadness was to want to help rather than nonchalance, they _must_ run deeper than just a simple attraction.

Well, there was only one way to find out . . . Enjolras nodded and moved his own hand to Grantaire’s lower back, moving him closer. Grantaire moved his thumb in small circles on Enjolras’s cheek, moving closer, and closer, until finally . . .

Someone knocked on the door. Enjolras and Grantaire sprung apart, both flushing a dark red as they turned to look at Combferre, who was standing in the doorway now-open doorway with an apologetic expression on his face. “Uhm, sorry to interrupt, but Dr. Valjean wants you in his office, Enjolras.” He looked into the hallway for a moment before stepping in to whisper, “Don’t get caught, or Valjean will switch one of you into a different room. He isn’t homophobic, but he has specific rules to keep his patients safe.”

Enjolras didn’t say anything. He felt Grantaire squeeze his shoulder as he stood up and followed Combferre out of the room and down the hall towards the office.

Combferre knocked on the door before turning to Enjolras, giving him a small smile. “Hey, will you tell Courfeyrac I’m sorry for how I acted this morning? I’m off in a few minutes, and he just ignores me every time I come near him.” He pulled at the sleeves of his uniform uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

The boys didn’t have a chance to talk about anything more, for as soon as Enjolras had agreed to Combferre’s request, Dr. Valjean pulled open the door. “Ah, Enjolras. Yes, come in, come in.”

Enjolras gave Combferre a wave before stepping into the office. He followed Dr. Valjean to the desk and sat down in a plush red chair, something that obviously was a new addition to the man’s office. Dr. Valjean sat down next to him, reaching out and placing a hand on his knee. “So, Enjolras, how has your first week here been? Are you adjusting all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, good. And the new medicine, is it helping at all? Has your impulse-control been better? Are you starting to feel like you can connect better with people emotionally yet?”

Enjolras looked at Dr. Valjean in confusion. Honestly, he hadn’t really thought about it, as he figured that he was taking the same generic depression shit as Courfeyrac, since Dr. Valjean hadn’t mentioned anything about his impulse-control or his ability to connect to others.

The more he thought about it, though, it seemed rather likely that perhaps the medication was what was causing him to have such a strong emotionally response to how things made Grantaire feel. He hesitated before nodding slowly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good, good. How have you felt physically? Any nausea or strange dreams?”

“No, sir.”

“Fantastic. I was a little worried about switching you to this medication, since you were off your old one for so long, but I’m glad that you are feeling fine.” He patted Enjolras’s knee before standing up and walking around to his desk. He sat down and turned on his laptop. “All right, son, I would like to talk about some of the things that you said while you were under the truth serum. Is that all right with you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Valjean wiggled his mouse and opened a document. He scanned over the list of patients until he found the things that Enjolras had said, a look of concern coming over his face. “I see here that you said you were molested by a nanny when you were a child? And that your parents were never around much? Is that accurate?”

Enjolras bit his lip before nodding. Sure, when Grantaire had said that the serum made Courfeyrac and him spill their secrets, he was curious, but he didn’t think that he would share _that._ What had happened with Cody was something that he had never told a single soul, not even his parents. Cody likely would have left the family far earlier than he had if Enjolras had said something, but getting his own revenge was something that made Enjolras much, much happier than he would have if Cody had simply been fired.

Dr. Valjean must have read Enjolras’s mind, as the next thing he said was, “I see here that you scared that same nanny into quitting by attempting to castrate him with a butter knife during a sleep-walking episode when you were eight. Is _that_ accurate?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Valjean hid a smile and a laugh behind a cough before nodding. “All right.” He scanned through the list some more before shrugging. “Well, Enjolras, I can’t say that there is anything in here that you said that I didn’t already know, so you are free to go.”

“Thank you, sir.” Enjolras stood up and made his way towards the door. He had barely reached the doorway, though, when Dr. Valjean called out to him.

“Don’t forget that you can come in here anytime you need my help, Enjolras, be it dealing with a side effect from the medication, or talking about something that is bothering you. I am here for whatever you need.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome. Now, if you would send Mr. Abram in for me, that would be wonderful.”

Enjolras nodded. He turned and walked out of the room, walking back down the hall and into the dorms. He walked until he got back to Grantaire and his room, where he saw that Grantaire was still sitting on his bed, only now, he had his sketch book. “Hey, Grantaire?”

Grantaire jumped, but looked up, his scared expression growing fond when he saw that it was Enjolras. “Hey, Enjolras. Come here.”

Enjolras shook his head, his nerves coming back full force. “Uhm, Dr. Valjean wants you in his office.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Yeah, I figured that I would be next. He normally only checks out the new people, but . . . ” he stopped, reaching a hand up and scratching the back of his head. “Never mind.” He got up and walked towards the door. Enjolras moved back, flinching when Grantaire tried to reach a hand out to push back a loose strand of Enjolras’s hair, his mind flashing back to Cody. Grantaire looked confused, and then hurt, as he dropped his hand down and looked to the floor, leaving the room and making his way to Dr. Valjean’s office.

Enjolras let out a deep breath once Grantaire was gone.

 

6

Over the course of the next few days, Enjolras did anything he possibly could to stay out of Grantaire's way. He ate his meal in silence with Joly, spent his free time with Jonathon, and only went to their room when the curfew was mandated. He even went out of his way to only spend time with Courfeyrac or Combferre when Grantaire was in his twice-weekly meetings with Dr. Valjean.

By the end of day five, though, Jonathon and Joly were seriously starting to get on Enjolras's nerves. They had been served some sort of soup that evening, which had sent Joly into another minor fit.

“So many different things were touched to make this soup . . . Each thing was cut individually by different people and put into the can . . .” he muttered, his eyes wide as he rocked back and forth on the dark-blue plastic chair. “Oh God, what if someone sneezed while packaging this, and a few of their germs got into the can? The germs would multiply, especially in a metal can in the heat . . . Oh God, we are eating a colony of germs!” He began to hyperventilate. “They are everywhere! What if the can was bulging, and the cook didn't care, since he doesn't have to eat it? What if we all die of botulism? What if―”

“Joly, shut up,” Enjolras snapped, slamming his spoon down onto the table, splashing a bit of the soup that he was bringing up to his to mouth onto Joly's hand. Joly yanked his hand back in a panic, his breathing growing more and more rapid as he scrubbed the back of his hand with a napkin until his skin was bright red.

“Unclean, unclean!” Joly scrubbed harder, successfully rubbing off the top layer of skin. Enjolras rolled his eyes as Joly’s hand began to bleed, and he began to freak out even more.

Enjolras reached a hand up and waved in Combferre’s direction, who was taking his break and sitting at one of the tables. He looked over, as well as Courfeyrac and Grantaire, who gave Enjolras looks of amusement and confusion, respectively. He stared at Joly for a minute before letting out a sigh that was visible across the room and stood up.

“Okay, Joly, let’s get you to medical and get you all patched up,” Combferre said, placing a hand gently on Joly’s shoulder and hooking his other hand under Joly’s armpit.

“Don’t touch me!” Joly flinched away and ducked his head, switching the napkin to the other hand to rub the skin beneath his tee-shirt sleeve. Combferre put his hands back, grabbing firmer this time as he nodded towards another orderly for help. 

“Come on, Joly, you need to get up.”

“No! This room is unclean! _Unclean_!”

Combferre yanked harder under Joly was successfully on his feet, but he ducked away a moment later when Joly thrashed and aimed his fist in the direction of Combferre’s face. He hit his target, and was grabbed by the man Combferre had nodded at, as well as a young woman. Combferre doubled over in pain as blood gushed from his nose and covered the white shirt of his uniform. The female orderly stuck Joly with a tranquilizer before pulling a wad of tissues out of her pocket and tossing it towards Combferre.

When the tissues fell to the ground, Enjolras jumped out of the orderlies’ ways and grabbed the wad, handing them to Combferre as the orderlies dragged Joly out of the room. “Here you go.”

“Fanks,” Combferre said, leaning his head back and trying to get the bleedings to stop. Courfeyrac and Grantaire ran over to see if they could help.

“Fuck, Combferre, I thought I told you to stay out of Joly’s way when he gets like this,” Courfeyrac scolded in a tight voice, crossing his arms and shifting from foot to foot. He dug his nails into his biceps when Combferre let out a low whimper from the pain.

“It’s my job,” he groaned, beginning to pull the tissues away to examine them. Courfeyrac didn’t like that idea, though, and forced them back up to Combferre’s nose, his worried expression immediately turning apologetic when Combferre let out a loud cry.

“I’m sorry, Combferre, I’m sorry,” Courfeyrac exclaimed, readjusting his hand so that he was holding Combferre’s face more gently. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and, after checking to make sure that no one else was watching, leaned up and kissed Combferre on the cheek before leading him out of the dining hall towards the medical ward, both men blushing a furious red.

Enjolras and Grantaire watched their friends leave before turning to face one another. Enjolras reached a hand up and rubbed the back of his head nervously before mumbling, “Uhm, I’m going to go find Jonathon, and―”

“No, Enjolras. You are going to stay right here, and we are going to talk about what happened last week,” Grantaire interrupted, grabbing Enjolras’s wrist as he began to turn away. Enjolras yanked his arm away and continued to turn. He took a few steps towards the common room before sighing and turning around to look back at Grantaire.

Grantaire was staring at the floor, and was holding on to his left arm with the arm that he had stopped Enjolras with. He stayed still for a moment before his shoulders fell and he sat back down at his table, leaning his head against one of his hands before picking up his spoon and spinning the vegetables around idly.

Enjolras stared at him for a moment before sighing. This wasn’t right. Things had been so much easier before Grantaire had tried to kiss Enjolras. Sure, Enjolras had said it was fine, and, well, maybe he wanted it, but . . . he wanted to get out of here in the least amount of time, without any of the struggles that would come along with him trying his very first relationship somewhere like this. If they were out in the real world, maybe, but here?

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Enjolras muttered before walking over and sliding into the seat adjacent to Grantaire. He crossed his arms and kicked his feet out, nudging Grantaire’s foot. Grantaire looked up, his face lighting up when he saw that it was Enjolras. “You want to talk, fine. We’ll talk.”

Grantaire smiled and nodded before standing up and walking away from the table.

Enjolras watched Grantaire in confusion. _What_? He said that he would give in to Grantaire’s wishes and talk about what happened, and Grantaire walked away? What the hell? That didn’t solve anything. In fact, it just proved Enjolras’s point! If Grantaire wasn’t even really serious about talking about Enjolras and his almost-kiss, then how in the world could Enjolras trust that he was really serious about starting a relationship?

He was about to walk away when Grantaire came back, two plates of cake in his hands. He handed one to Enjolras before shrugging. “It pays to know the cooks,” he said, smiling as he handed Enjolras a fork.

Enjolras took a bite. For how crappy the food here was, the cake was actually pretty damn good. It tasted like _real_ chocolate cake, instead of the cardboard-like texture that the patients had received with the few times that they had been given dessert. It was moist, and the frosting tasted like it came from a real kitchen rather than a buy-in-bulk bag. This, Enjolras could get used to.

The talking, though, just one conversation was more than enough. Grantaire waited until Enjolras had finished his piece of cake before saying, “Let’s go back to our room to talk, okay? I have a feeling that, since you were avoiding me, you don’t want other people to hear what we are talking about.”

Enjolras thought about it for a moment before nodding. Grantaire nodded back before standing and leading the way to the dorms. Within a few minutes, they were back in their room, the door as cracked as regulations would allow. Grantaire sat on his bed and, after a few moments of hesitated, Enjolras sat down in his own, his back against the wall and his feet hanging off the edge. “So . . . ”

“How about we start with you telling me what you feel about me, because I am getting really mixed signals. First, you say yes when I ask if I can kiss you. Then, you avoid me for a week and flinch away every time I come near you. I don’t care if you aren’t attracted to me; hell, if I were you, I wouldn’t be attracted to me either. I have a beer-gut, my hair is always a mess, and I’m a total jerk when I am off my medication. Besides, you’ve only known me for a few weeks, so I totally get it. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened at Grantaire’s descriptions of himself. That’s not what he saw at all. Sure, perhaps Grantaire was different when he was off his medication, but Enjolras was quickly realizing the same thing about himself. At his last meeting with Dr. Valjean, they had talked in-depth about Enjolras’s ability (or lack-thereof) to emotionally connect to other people, and had agreed that this new medicine, as well as Enjolras’s depression medicine, was making him feel far better than he could remember feeling in any of his twenty-four years . . . other than a few minor side-effects.

Physically, though, was that what Grantaire really thought? Enjolras had sneaked a few glances at Grantaire when he was changing shirts, and “beer gut” was the _last_ thing that the dark-haired man’s trim, slightly-pudgy stomach could be described as, and his hair . . . yes, it was messy, but it was more “I just had the best sex of my life” messy than it was messy due to lack of hygiene.

Enjolras got so far into his thoughts about Grantaire’s hair that his own body began to have its own physical response. He hardly even noticed until Grantaire made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Enjolras’s eyes widened and he grabbed his pillow, throwing it over his lap as he began to blush profusely. “Uhm . . . ”

“So, uh, I guess that clears up whether you are attracted to me or not,” Grantaire said, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he turned to stare at the door. He thought for a moment before turning back to Enjolras. “Uhm, why have you been avoiding me then? Did I do something else?”

Enjolras wanted to run and hide in shame. He couldn’t believe that he had gotten hard around Grantaire. He was already embarrassed enough about even _feeling_ attraction to admit that he was basically an adolescent-boy in a situation like this. This was one of those “minor” side-effects that he had begun to deal with in the last week since the almost-kiss. Grantaire’s face would swirl around his dreams, and he would imagine all the ways that the other man’s lips would feel against his, and how Grantaire’s face would light up from the feeling.

He thought back to the first time that he had seen Grantaire after his interview with the board, and the way that his mind has turned back to Cody before he could even register that it was a different man standing in front of him. He had always believed in honesty, but answering Grantaire’s question about _this_ honestly just seemed far too hard for him to do. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, Enjolras, tell me. I want to know. What did I do wrong?”

“It’s nothing that you did.”

“Then what was i―”

“I was raped, okay?!” Enjolras’s eyes widened as the admission slipped out. He slapped his hand over his mouth, and looked down at the bed, his breath quickening and his heart beginning to race. He felt his face turn bright red, and tears burned at the corner of his eyes as his mind was filled with memories.

It was getting harder for him to breathe, and the room was starting to get dark. His head was spinning, and the room was starting to feel as though it was made of fire rather than drywall and concrete. There was a boa constrictor around his chest, pulling tighter and tighter until all his ribs had been snapped and were emerging through the clammy skin of his abdomen.

When Grantaire jumped out of his bed and pulled Enjolras into his arms, though, everything changed. It took a few minutes, but the boa constrictor returned to its home in the walls, and the fire fizzled out until the bed was simply a pile of ashes and charcoal. Enjolras’s heart returned to his normal pace, and his breathing evened back out.

Grantaire tightened his grip around Enjolras and kissed the top of his head gently. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. You don’t have to talk about it. I don’t care that you were avoiding me. Everything is fine.”

Enjolras didn’t move for several moments. He just sat there, breathing in and out slowly against Grantaire’s chest. Eventually, though, he had to sit up, and face reality. What happened with Cody was in the past, and Grantaire was right, everything was fine now. He could talk about this. It would help with his healing, right? Maybe then he could admit out loud what he was feeling for Grantaire, rather than just letting his body do the talking.

“No, I need to talk about it. I’ll never get passed it if I don’t.” He moved away from Grantaire and turned so that he was facing the partially-open door. If he was going to do this, he couldn’t look at Grantaire while it was happening. He didn’t need to see what reaction Cody’s actions got. Telling Grantaire would be difficult enough without those.

He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat before beginning his tale. "When I was eight, my parents weren't around much. They went through nanny after nanny, as I scared every single one of them away in less than a month . . . Except for one. His name was Cody, and he was, by far, the best nanny I ever had. Well, at least at first.

"After about six months, though, something changed. He became more violent, and he started putting his hands on me whenever he had to discipline me. One day, I had started a mud fight with our Great Dane, Michelangelo. We tracked mud all over the house, and Cody was absolutely furious that he had to clean the whole thing up. He called his younger sister, Dae, to help him clean the entire house before my parents came home from work that evening. Once she left, though, that's when all hell broke loose."

He stopped, his throat and chest growing tighter again as he got to the meat of his story. He was glad that Grantaire couldn't see his face, as the paleness of his cheeks and the teardrops leaking from his eyes were anything but manly. He continued, his voice quivering and his shoulders trembling. "He said that I had been a very bad boy, and that bad boys needed to be punished. He took me to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. He told me to take all my clothes off and get in. Other nannies had bathed me before, so I didn't think anything of it. I knew something was off, though, when he got into the shower with me."A harsh shudder wracked through Enjolras's body as the memory overtook his senses. He could feel Cody's hands violating him, the water hot enough to scald his skin, but not hot enough to wash away the filth left behind by Cody’s hands.

Grantaire turned Enjolras around to face him. Enjolras expected him to be appalled, disgusted, even, but he didn't expect the rage that he saw. He quickly wiped his tears away and moved to the side, turning as far away as he could. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you. I hope it doesn't change the way you see me, now that you know that I am used goods, as they say."

Grantaire pulled Enjolras back, his expression softening. "Enjolras, this doesn't make me any less interested in you. If anything, it makes me even _more_ interested, now that I know you better." He ran his fingers through Enjolras's hair before taking Enjolras's chin in his hand. "Enjolras, what that man did to you, it wasn't your fault. He was a sick bastard, and deserves to be locked up."

Enjolras pushed Grantaire's hand away and looked at the ground. "He is locked up. He tried to kill some girl a few years back, and he murdered some security guard a few months back."

"Well, then he got exactly what he deserved, both for hurting those people and hurting you. You are the most beautiful, and intelligent, and most selfless person I have ever met. I wish I had half the conviction you do to make a difference in the world. Hell, I don't even know if I believe that society can be anything more than a fucked-up cesspool of shitty people doing even shittier things." He kissed Enjolras's hair before getting up off the bed. "For the time being, though, I think what you need is my friendship, not my attraction to you. Just . . . promise that you won't avoid me again, okay? You can talk to me about absolutely anything. Nothing you say will make me view you any different, okay?"

Enjolras nodded."I promise . . .on one condition."

"And that is . . . "

Enjolras paused, looking down at the ground again. Was he really sure he wanted to do this?

. . . Yes, he was. He coughed and muttered, "You give me one kiss."

Grantaire smirked, sitting back down and putting a hand on Enjolras's knee. "That is one condition that I will _gladly_ do "

Enjolras wiped his palms nervously on the bed as Grantaire began to lean forward. God, he was having his very first kiss in a mental institution.

When their lips finally touched, though, Enjolras didn't care anymore that he was having his first kiss in a mental institution. All that mattered was that he was kissing Grantaire, and that Grantaire was kissing him.

 

 

 

7

_They were in the study, surrounded by law books and a copy of the Bill of Rights. On all sides of them, there were copies of both past and current court cases that had to do with all sorts of injustices, from domestic abuse to women suing their male bosses for higher pay. Grantaire held up one of the files, sliding it open and reading the final line before pushing Enjolras to the floor._

_“The defendant has been found guilty, in the case of Smith vs. Watson.” He kissed down the length of Enjolras’s neck, chuckling slightly when he felt how turned on Enjolras was getting from the justice of the case. “Damn, baby, does that excite you?”_

_“Mmm, you know it.” Enjolras ground up and wrapped his legs around Grantaire’s hips. Grantaire groaned even louder than Enjolras had as their erections pressed against each other. Grantaire leaned down and gave Enjolras a bruising kiss, slithering his hand down Enjolras’s body until his long, charcoal-stained fingers wrapped around Enjolras’s co_ _―_

Enjolras jolted awake. He was covered in sweat, and his throbbing cock was rock hard. He looked over to Grantaire’s bed, wishing that the other man would wake up and indulge Enjolras in his fantasies. What he saw, though, was _not_ what he expected.

Grantaire’s bed was empty, and it didn’t look like he had slept in it at all. In fact, when Enjolras walked over and checked the sheets, they were cold. Enjolras looked at the bed in confusion before looking at the still-closed door. Normally, if Grantaire left the room in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, he left the door cracked with the latch on the doorframe flipped outwards so that the orderlies would know not to write him up for being out of his room. Sure, the orderlies checked the rooms at night through the peep hole in the door, but with the way that Grantaire had posed his pillows, it didn’t seem likely that they would question anything.

Enjolras scanned around the room for his slippers before going over towards the door. He opened the door and looked out, scanning the hall for any of the orderlies doing their rounds. When he didn’t see any, he stepped out of the door and began to walk in the direction of the commons. He doubted that Grantaire would be there, but he figured that it was worth a shot.

When he got halfway down the hall, however, something stuck to the wall caught his eye. He narrowed his eyes and walked over to the object. It was a piece of paper with a drawing on it. A closer inspection showed that the paper was from Grantaire’s drawing pad, and it had scribbles on it in charcoal.

_E_ _―_ _go to the last door at the_ _end of the hall. Go through it and go up the stairs, then go through the second door on the right. I will meet you there. G and C 2_

Enjolras looked at the note in confusion before looking and scanning the hall again. The last door at the end of the hall . . . what door was Grantaire talking about? He thought that this hall consisted only of dorms and bathrooms, but perhaps he was wrong. He figured that Grantaire would know far better than him, though, so it was worth a shot.

“Mr. Macray, what are you doing out of your room?”

Enjolras froze in place. He turned around slowly to see Dr. Valjean standing a few yards away from him, an amused smirk on his face. Enjolras began to stutter out a response. Dr. Valjean raised an eyebrow and shook his head, chuckling. “Mr. Abram, Mr. Halloway, and Mr. McCartney told you wrong. It’s the third door on the left, not the second.” He winked before turning back around and walking away. He only got a few feet, though, when he turned back to Enjolras. “Oh, and be careful when you shut the door behind you. If you shut it too hard, it will lock, and you’ll be stuck in there until morning.” He gave Enjolras a slight wave before walking away once again.

Enjolras watched Dr. Valjean in confusion before going back down the hall to finish following the rest of the letter’s directions. He went up the stairs and counted the doors. “One . . . two . . . ” He stopped in front of a metal door and grabbed the handle, pulling it open. “Three.”

His eyes widened when he saw where he was. He was on a rooftop overlooking the acre or so of land surrounding the Attley property. It was beautiful.

He shut the door gently behind him, just like Dr. Valjean had told him to. From somewhere around the corner, he could hear male voices. Enjolras walked towards the sound to see Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Combferre sitting with a large concrete block. Grantaire was sitting on the ground next to the block, leaning against it and smoking a cigarette. Combferre was sitting on top of it with his legs thrown over the side and his hands behind him to support his weight. Courfeyrac was sprawled out fast asleep next to him, his head on Combferre’s lap. Combferre was running his fingers through his hair and staring down at him with a fond look in his eyes.

“Dude, just fuck him already,” Enjolras called out, alerting Combferre and Grantaire to his presence. They looked up at him, surprised. Combferre turned red and yanked his hand out of Courfeyrac’s hair, sputtering in embarrassment. Grantaire’s face lit up, and he pushed himself into a standing position before walking over to Enjolras and pulling him into a kiss. Enjolras kissed him back.

From behind them, Combferre cleared his throat. Grantaire and Enjolras separated and looked at him. “I thought you said that you two were going to stay ‘just friends.’ That doesn’t look like ‘just friends’ to me,” he teased. He took his hand from Courfeyrac’s hair and placed it gently on his chest, right above his heart.

Grantaire rolled his eyes before looking at Enjolras shyly. “Sorry, Enjolras, but I just couldn’t resist it when I saw you in the moonlight.”

Enjolras shrugged, the side of his lip quirking up in a small smile. “It’s fine, really. I definitely can’t say that I mind.” He leaned forward and gave Grantaire another kiss before pulling back and walking over to Combferre and Courfeyrac. He jumped up next to Combferre, wincing when he accidently landed on Courfeyrac’s hair and woke him up. “Shit, sorry.”

Courfeyrac groaned and sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. “Hey, Enjolras,” he mumbled, yawning. He moved until his legs were thrown over Combferre’s. He dropped his head down onto Combferre’s shoulder.

“Hi, Courf.”

Enjolras reached over and patted Courfeyrac on the knee before looking over to Grantaire. He had sat cross-legged on the ground across from the block, and had taken out his sketchbook and one of his sticks of charcoal. He was looking back and forth between the three men and his book. Enjolras cleared his throat to get Grantaire’s attention. “What are you drawing?”

Grantaire looked down at the sketchbook before smirking. “You’ll have to wait until I’m done.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He looked back over at Courfeyrac and Combferre. Courfeyrac was becoming extremely affectionate in his sleepy state, and was nuzzling into the side of Combferre’s neck. He wrapped his arms around Combferre’s torso. Combferre kissed the side of his head before putting an arm over his shoulders and pulling him close to his chest as he drifted back off to sleep.

Enjolras stared at the couple for a moment before asking, “Wait, Combferre, why are you here tonight? I thought that you only worked Wednesday nights.”

Combferre nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I just . . . ” He trailed off, looking down at Courfeyrac shyly. He shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and . . . I guess I just missed him. I was reading my anatomy textbook for my med school exams, and I just couldn’t focus.”

“Wow.” Enjolras shook his head. He knew that Combferre was sprung, but he didn’t know just how bad Combferre had it until that very moment.

“Damn, Combferre, you’re fucked,” Grantaire chimed in, chuckling.

Combferre blushed. “Shut up.”

Grantaire stuck his tongue out before saying, “See, this is _exactly_ why I told him I wouldn’t fight with him anymore when it came time for him to get out. Another month, and you two will finally be able to really be together.”

Enjolras nodded in agreement before looking at Grantaire in confusion. “Wait, Courfeyrac is leaving in a month?”

“Yeah, we talked about it with Dr. Valjean and both of us are getting released. He’s leaving in a month, and I’m leaving in three.”

Enjolras furrowed his brow for a moment before saying, “Oh.” He looked over at Combferre, giving him a tight smile. “So, are you excited that about Courfeyrac going home?”

Combferre nodded. “Of course I am. I want whatever is best for him, and I think that being back out in the real world would be what’s best for him. He’ll never get over his anger and disappointment towards his parents if he doesn’t have to face them and be real with them.” He dropped another kiss on Courfeyrac’s hair. “I really think that his depression and his anger issues would go away if he just dealt with it.”

“I agree.” Grantaire rubbed one of the marks on his paper before blowing away the dust. “Do you remember when his mom came down to visit a couple of weeks before Enjolras got here?”

Combferre nodded. “Yeah, I do. I snuck him out that night and took him out for ice cream. He cried the entire ride there. If I remember correctly, his mom told him that his grandfather had passed away because of the ‘sins that Courfeyrac had committed against their family.’ He was crushed.”

Enjolras looked at Combferre in shock. “Are they really religious?”

Combferre nodded. “Yeah. I had to deal with signing her in and out, and she told me that I was going to hell for working with ‘lepers and sodomites.’ She is _definitely_ one of those people who people that mental instability is caused by going against God.”

“Wow.” Enjolras shook his head. He thought that his parents were bad. Yes, they cut him off and were very much against every decision that he made with his life, but they weren’t so bad at to condemn his very being. Granted, they didn’t know, now that he had figured out his sexuality, that he was gay (or at least bisexual), but he didn’t think that they would blame his mental issues on “angering God.” Then again, they had never been religious, either.

Grantaire let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Yeah.” He blew on his paper again before propping the sketchbook up on his legs, the cover facing outwards. “Okay, are you guys ready to see the finished picture?”

“Definitely,” Combferre said, adjusting his hold on Courfeyrac so that he would be able to see.

Grantaire looked at Enjolras for approval before he turned the sketchbook around. When Enjolras saw the picture, his eyes widened in awe. It was of the four of them, with their arms around each other’s shoulders. Combferre and Courfeyrac were beaming with their heads pressed together. Enjolras was in the middle, kissing Grantaire’s cheek, and Grantaire was beaming, his arms outstretched and his fingers wide.

Grantaire looked at Enjolras nervously. “I know that we literally _just_ decided that it’s fine for us to be more than friends, but . . . this image has been in my head ever since you started hanging out with the three of us.”

“I love it.” Enjolras smiled and held his hand out for the sketchbook. Grantaire gave it to him. Enjolras straightened back up and leaned over towards Combferre so that he could see the drawing better.

Combferre made a face then nodded. “Hmm, I like it.” He pushed the sketchbook away before looking at Grantaire and coughing, “Not the only sprung one.”

Enjolras blushed and handed Grantaire back his sketchbook. Grantaire avoided his eyes and looked down at the book uncomfortably.

Even with the tense energy in the air, Enjolras had to admit, this was one of the happiest nights of his life.

 

8

 

By the time that Enjolras, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Combferre made their way back inside, it was nearly four in the morning. Dr. Valjean was waiting at the foot of the steps, the smile never leaving his face as he welcome the four boys back into the institution. “Ah, glad to see that you made it back inside all right,” he said, nodding at Combferre before tossing him the keys. “Combferre, go lock the door, please.”

“All right.”

“ _And_ give me back the key that you took from my office this afternoon.” Dr. Valjean’s smile turned to a knowing smirk as he held his hand out. Combferre blushed before taking the key out of the front pocket of his Johns and handing it back bashfully. Dr. Valjean closed his hand around it. “Thank you.”

Combferre turned and went back up the stairs to lock the door, the air rushing behind him as he skipped between steps and crackling with the fires that had replaced his cheeks. Courfeyrac watched until Combferre was at the top of the steps before turning to Dr. Valjean. “So, Johnny-boy, why are you here so damn early?”

“He was here when I went up to the roof,” Enjolras interjected, giving Dr. Valjean a grateful smile. “He was the one who corrected the directions that you three gave me, since you told me the wrong door.”

Dr. Valjean nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.” He looked at Courfeyrac. “To answer your question, Mr. McCartney, I am having my house renovated, and it is rather disheartening to sleep in a bedroom that has no roof. Therefore, I am using the empty room at the end of the hall as my home until the contractor is finished.” He glanced at the stairs as Combferre came back down. He took the keys from him before saying, “All right, boys, get back to your rooms and get some rest before the wake-up call at seven. Combferre, use the room across from mine. I don’t want you falling asleep on the job.”

He began to walk down the hall. When he got down a few doors, he turned back around, pointing a finger at Combferre. “Wait until I am out of sight before you tell Mr. McCartney goodbye. What I don’t see, I don’t know, and I don’t have to write down on my weekly report to the board, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He twirled his hand in circles and gave a theatrical bow. “I bid you men adieu.”

Dr. Valjean turned back in the direction of his room, walking until he had turned a corner and was out of the men’s eyesight. Enjolras turned to Combferre in confusion. “So, does Dr. Valjean know absolutely everything that goes on around here?”

“Sort of.” Combferre reached a hand up and scratched the back of his neck. “He was the one who told me about the roof passage, the first time. I thought that the stairs only led to the girls’ floor, but there was a night that I was panicking about an exam I had for my kinesiology class the next day, and he showed me where the third door went. I _did_ have to sneak the key out of his office, though.”

“I thought you said that you came in because you couldn’t sleep.”

Courfeyrac scoffed, pushing Combferre playfully before he had a chance to respond. “Puh- _lease_. I told him that nighttime, and his days off, sucked because I didn’t get to see his face. He had offered to come keep me company before I even had the chance to ask him to come in.” He nudged Combferre with his shoulder. “He loves me.”

“I do not!” Combferre exclaimed, moving away from Courfeyrac and crossing his arms defensively. He let out a huffy breath through his nose before shaking his head and turning on his heel. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.” He began to walk away.

Courfeyrac gave Combferre’s back a wounded look before running after him. “Combferre, wait,” he pleaded, catching up to him and grabbing his arm. “I’m sorry.”

Combferre yanked his arm away. “Do you want the truth?” he asked, his eyes burning with sudden anger. “Yes, I _do_ love you. I love you so fucking much, and all you ever do is lead me on! I’ve risked my job _so_ many times for you, and all you can do is joke around about how much you’d love to fuck me, or you kiss me on the cheek before talking about how much you’d love to see some of the other orderlies with their clothes off! How do you think that makes me feel, huh? Why would you ever—”

He was cut off as Courfeyrac grabbed the sides of his hoodie and pulled him in to a bruising kiss. “I love you, too, you idiot,” he mumbled, wrapping an arm around his lower back and kissing him harder. Combferre stood still in shock for a moment before letting out a soft moan and lunging forward. Even from his place several feet away, in the dark, Enjolras was able to see Combferre’s tongue attacking Courfeyrac’s lips and one of his hands wandering down to the back of Courfeyrac’s Johns.

“Damn,” Grantaire murmured, speaking the exact words that had come to Enjolras’s mind. He watched the exchange for a moment before shaking his head and looking over at Enjolras. “Come on, let’s go back to our room before we get caught by one of the other orderlies for being out past curfew.” He reached down and grabbed Enjolras’s hand.

Enjolras hesitated for a moment before lacing their fingers together. It felt strange, holding someone’s hand like this. He had shaken hands with hundreds, if not _thousands_ of people, but that brief contact couldn't compare to what Enjolras was experiencing. His fingers were trembling, and he desperately hoped that Grantaire wasn't grossed out by how sweaty his palms had become.

Grantaire squeezed Enjolras's hand, chuckling as they turned down the hall to the dorms. "Why are you so nervous? It's just me."

Enjolras shook his head, not really sure if he wanted to answer. That was the problem, wasn't it? That it was Grantaire? Grantaire was the first person to make him feel something real, and the first person to make him think that maybe, just maybe, he was made for this world to do more than just fight against social injustices.

Combferre and Courfeyrac, too, were changing the way that Enjolras viewed other people. Sure, he had had "friends" in the past, but he never clicked with them the same way that he did those two. He was actually feeling _happy_ for once, something that he wasn't entirely sure he could have said honestly at any other point in his life.

He had hoped that this year would pass by quickly, when he was first given the option, but now, only a few weeks in, Enjolras wasn't sure that he wanted it over in only eleven months. Hell, as happy as he was for Courfeyrac and Combferre to finally have figured their shit out, he hoped that something would happen to keep Courfeyrac at the Attley for just a little bit longer. Now that he had friends, he didn't want anything to happen to split them up.

Enjolras was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice Grantaire trying to get his attention until the older man had smacked him gently on the back of the head. "Ow, what was that for?"Enjolras asked, narrowing his eyes at his roommate and letting go of his hand.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "We are at our dorm."

Enjolras turned his head to see that they were, in fact, back at the dorm. "Oh."

He reached down and turned the knob, opening the door as quietly as he could in order not to alert any of the orderlies of a patient out of their room. He stepped in, Grantaire directly behind him.

Enjolras went over to his bed and sat down, kicking off his slippers and letting out a yawn. He hadn't realized how tired he was, but now that he was back on his rigid mattress and threadbare sheets, he could barely keep his eyes open from the overwhelming exhaustion. He smiled at Grantaire before lying back and rolling over to his side, pulling his knees up to his chest and curling around his pillow.

He barely felt Grantaire kissing him on the head and telling him goodnight before he was fast asleep.

 

***

 

When Enjolras was awoken a couple of hours later, it was by Grantaire, rather than one of the orderlies. Enjolras groaned and rolled back over, grabbing the sheet and pulling it up over his head until only his long, blond curls were sticking out. "What do you want?"

Grantaire kissed Enjolras on the head before sliding under the blankets with him. He put his leg in between Enjolras's and wrapped an arm around his waist. "I can't sleep."

"Well I can." Enjolras pushed back against Grantaire until his back was flush with Grantaire's chest. "Just let me sleep."

"Okay, Enjolras. Sleep well."

Enjolras closed his eyes, and let his breathing even back out, waiting impatiently to drift back off into his dreamland of a country where everyone had an equal say in their fates. Unfortunately, it seemed that he had a long time to wait. The longer that Grantaire held him, the more aware of him he was. Every breath that ghosted over Enjolras's bare neck caused goosebumps to erupt over every inch of his skin. Every gentle kiss that Grantaire dropped into Enjolras's hair sent shivers down his spine. The shape of Grantaire's cock, thick and partially-hard against Enjolras's hip, made Enjolras's heart race and his blood rush south.

 _God_ , he needed to touch Grantaire. He needed to feel the man come apart in his hands, feel the way that Grantaire tensed up and shook with every stroke of Enjolras's nimble fingers. He needed to taste those dusty-pink nipples. He needed to smell the aroma that Grantaire always smelled like, of the slightly-burnt scent of his charcoal pencils and the faint smell of cigarettes from the smokes that Combferre smuggled in for Courfeyrac and him.

He needed to feel Grantaire touching him. His cock was already stiff with want, and it was twitching in a way that he had never felt before.

Grantaire, it seemed, wanted the same thing. When he shifted positions and his hand accidently brushed against Enjolras, he let out a small gasp before slowly rotating his hips and pressing into the shape of his rear through the gray sweatpants.

"Fuck, Enjolras," he breathed, moving his arms around Enjolras's chest and pressing harder against him.

Enjolras turned around and put a hand on Grantaire's hip, his eyes wide and pleading. "Kiss me, please. I need to feel your lips on mine."

Grantaire nodded enthusiastically. He ducked his head and captured Enjolras's lips, biting down and sucking lightly before darting his tongue out and forcing it into Enjolras's mouth. Enjolras responded with vigor, trying his hardest to make it good for Grantaire so Grantaire wouldn't think him too inexperienced.

The only way to get experience, though, was to dive straight in and just try it. He tried to calm down his racing heart race before whispering, "I've never done this before, but . . . Can I touch you?"

"Oh, fuck yes." Grantaire rolled over on to his back and pulled Enjolras on top of him. He kissed him again before whispering, "We should have plenty of time before the orderlies come back, so . . . How do you want me?"

"Uhm . . . " Enjolras drew a blank as he straddled Grantaire's hips and sat up. He hadn't thought this far, and honestly, he had no idea what to do next. "Uh . . . Take off your shirt?"

Grantaire did as he was asked. When Enjolras was able to fully see the man's body, his throat went dry. He knew that Grantaire was gorgeous, but he never expected the freckles that spanned across his chest, or the splattering of hair on his belly.

Grantaire squirmed as Enjolras leaned down and blew on one of his nipples. He thrust his hips up gently, letting out a moan at the feeling. "Please, Enjolras, I need to feel your hand or your mouth on my cock."

Enjolras tensed up before nodding. He leaned down and kissed a trail down Grantaire's neck, to his chest, down to his belly button.

His heart began to race as he gripped the waistband of Grantaire's sweats. He pulled them down slowly, his dry-mouth becoming a desert when Grantaire's cock sprung free. He was filled with excitement, and nerves, and lust, and with a deep infatuation as he took a cautious lick before taking the head into his mouth.

He wasn't sure that he was doing it right, but when Grantaire let out a moan and clenched the sheets in his fists, his confidence grew, and he began to enjoy himself.

. . . When Grantaire thrust upwards, though, and sent Enjolras into a coughing fit, everything changed. He was no longer a man of twenty-four being intimate with a man he was becoming absolutely crazy about. He was a child again, tears streaming from his eyes and his chest constricting as he choked on a much-older teenager's cock. His heart began to race and he pulled back, scraping his teeth against the top layer of Grantaire's skin. He doubled over into himself, his breath coming out in quick, sparse pants that left him feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Tears really did began to stream from his eyes, and he shook as Grantaire tried to hold him protectively to his chest.

"Don't touch me!"he sobbed, thrashing his body around in an attempt to get out of the man's grasp.

"Enjolras, it's me, Grantaire. I'm not going to hurt you." He tightened his grip around Enjolras and cupped the back of his head."Shhh. It's just me."

Enjolras continued to panic. Eventually, though, the smell of Grantaire got to him, and he was able to calm down. He sniffed pathetically, reaching a hand up to scrub away the tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his cheeks burning in shame.

"You don't have to apologize, Enjolras. You said you've never done this before, right? Because of Cody?" Enjolras hesitated before nodding. Grantaire kissed him lightly before leaning their foreheads together. "If you aren't ready, that's fine. Although . .   "

Enjolras looked up as Grantaire trailed off, the dinosaurs in his stomach stampeding again. Oh God, this was the part where Grantaire said he didn't want someone who couldn't even have sex, wasn't it? The lack of empathy and the trouble with socializing, he could handle, but why would he want someone who went into a full-blown panic attack by a measly blowjob?

"Although what?"he eventually asked, his throat tight and his palms beginning to sweat again.

Grantaire shook his head. "If this isn't fine, I totally get it, but . . . If it's okay with you, I want to give you new memories and make you feel good."

"But . . . What about you?"

Grantaire shrugged. 'Getting you off is more than enough for me."

Enjolras thought about it for a moment. He really did like Grantaire, and he wanted a normal relationship with him. Besides, maybe Grantaire was right, and making new memories to block the old ones would make getting past it easier. He swallowed before answering. “All right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Enjolras moved so that he was next to Grantaire rather than in his arms. He pulled his shirt off and lied back, trying to loosen up his tense body and just relax.

Grantaire stared down at him. He reached out a hand and trailed a finger down Enjolras’s side, sighing when the other man winced and let out a quiet whimper. “Are you sure that you want this?”

Enjolras nodded, his throat tight. “Yes.” He took Grantaire’s hand in his own and laced their fingers together.

Grantaire leaned down and smoothed Enjolras’s hair. “If you want to stop at any point, though, let me know, okay? I don’t want to do anything that you are uncomfortable with, or scare you anymore than you already are.”

Enjolras nodded. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, moving Grantaire’s hand until it was at his hip. Grantaire leaned down and kissed him on the cheek before whispering in his ear, “I want you to keep your eyes open, okay? I want you to know that you are with me, and that you are one-hundred percent safe. Can you do that for me?”

Enjolras slowly opened his eyes and looked over at Grantaire. Grantaire smiled softly at him before saying, “Good. I’m going to take your pants off now. Is that okay?”

Enjolras nodded. Grantaire’s smile grew. He reached down and stuck his fingers into the waistband of Enjolras’s sweats. He made sure that Enjolras’s boxers would stay on before tugging down gently, moving the stretchy material until it gathered around Enjolras’s knees. He reached a hand out and gently caressed Enjolras’s still-limp cock through the material of his boxers. He ran his fingers back and forth a few times until Enjolras began to fill. “Does that feel nice?”

Enjolras nodded. He wanted to close his eyes and just feel what it was that Grantaire was doing to him, but he wanted to do exactly what Grantaire thought was right, and if that meant looking at him the whole time . . . well, then that was what he was going to do.

Grantaire moved his hand to grasp Enjolras firmer before gently squeezing the tip. “What do you want me to do next?”

Enjolras shook his head. “You decide. I don’t know what to do.”

“No, Enjolras, that isn’t how this works. You tell me exactly what I can and cannot do, okay? I will follow your boundaries to a tee.” He moved down until he was lying on his stomach with his chin on Enjolras’s hip, his breathing coming out in soft pants and warming the cloth around Enjolras’s cock. “Do you want me to get your cock wet?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me yes or no, Enjolras.”

Enjolras hesitated before whispering, “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I want you to get my . . . my cock wet.”

Grantaire did as Enjolras asked. He dipped his head down low and took the material into his mouth, using his tongue to dampen the cotton around Enjolras’s tip. He sucked lightly, looking up and locking his eyes with Enjolras’s before reaching over and interlacing their fingers, running his thumb over the back of Enjolras’s hand in slow, loving circles.

Enjolras stared down at Grantaire, his heart racing, and his breathing quickening. He was trying so hard not to panic, to remind himself that, like Grantaire said, if anything became too much, they would stop immediately.

He didn’t want to stop, though. Feeling such an intimate part of him in Grantaire’s mouth felt better than he ever imagined, and he could feel himself liking Grantaire more and more the longer that the man pleasured him.

It wasn’t enough. He needed more. “Grantaire . . . ” he whispered, biting his lip. He reached down to run his fingers through Grantaire’s curls, letting out a gasp when Grantaire sucked hard before pulling his head back.

He looked up at Enjolras through his lashes, his eyes fighting a battle between lust and worry. “Is everything okay, Enjolras? Do you want me to stop?”

Enjolras shook his head rapidly. “I want . . . ” he trailed off, biting his lip harder. Grantaire furrowed his brow before reaching up and pulling out Enjolras’s lip from between his teeth. He sat up and leaned forward, kissing away the blood that had began to bubble from bite marks.

“We can stop if you want, Enjolras. I told you that at the beginning. There is no reason to be scared.”

Enjolras shook his head again. “No. I want . . . I want . . . ” He swallowed thickly before exclaiming, “I want you to take my boxers off and touch me.”

Grantaire’s look of worry turned to one of excitement. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” He sat back on his heels and looked down, pausing for a moment before relieving Enjolras of his boxers. His eyes widened, and he stared down at Enjolras with his mouth agape before saying, “You . . . you are so, _so_ beautiful, Enjolras.”

Enjolras squirmed until Grantaire’s intense gaze. Grantaire barely even noticed, his eyes trailing from the scar across Enjolras’s shoulder from a rally-turned-bad, all the way down to the birthmark on his left thigh. After a while, though, Enjolras was starting to get impatient. “Grantaire . . . ” he whined, squeezing Grantaire’s hand. “Please.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Right, sorry.” He leaned down and nipped lightly at Enjolras’s collarbone before moving down in a zigzag pattern across his chest and stomach to finally come to a stop at the top of Enjolras’s pelvis. He looked up at him. “Are you ready?”

“ _Please_.”

That was all the encouragement that Grantaire needed. He kissed both of Enjolras’s hips before darting back to his cock, taking down all of him in one swift move. At first, Enjolras felt a deep surge of panic, but when he looked down and saw the top of Grantaire’s head, all he could feel was the tingling feeling that started in his toes and went all the way to the tip of his nose. He let out a shaky breath, the feeling overwhelming him. “Oh, God . . . ” he breathed, letting go of Grantaire’s hand and grabbing the back of his head, pushing him down further. Grantaire hummed and took it all in stride, moving his now-free hand around to clench one of Enjolras’s cheeks, using it to provide leverage as he bobbed up and down.

Enjolras was overwhelmed by the feeling. Grantaire was a genius. An amazing, sexy, _amazing-at-giving-blowjobs-holy-shit_ genius. He dug his nails into the back of Grantaire’s hair, trying as hard as he could to stay quiet as Grantaire moved faster and faster, hallowing his cheeks more and more until Enjolras thought that he was going to explode into millions of atoms from the sheer amount of _amazingness_ flowing through his veins.

Before long, though, it was all over, and Enjolras became a quivering mess on the bed. Grantaire released his cock with a soft _plop_ and pulled back, leaning up spit into the trashcan by the bed before kissing Enjolras softly. “Was that okay?”

Enjolras didn’t have enough left in him to speak. He nodded, reaching up and wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s neck. He pulled him close, pressing their temples together, and just breathing in the smell of the other man. “Thank you,” he murmured, kissing him on the cheek.

“You’re welcome,” Grantaire replied, tightening his hold on Enjolras.

They stayed this way for several minutes, until Enjolras let out a loud yawn. Grantaire chuckled and adjusted so that he and Enjolras were lying like they were before, with Grantaire on his side, and Enjolras pressed against his chest. “Go to sleep, baby,” he whispered, hugging him gently before kissing his shoulder. “We have a little bit of time still before we have to be up.”

“What about the orderlies?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I won’t fall asleep, don’t worry. I’ll move to my bed once you do, though, so we won’t have to worry about anything.”

“Okay.” Enjolras yawned again before nuzzling the side of his face into his pillow. “I love you.”

Enjolras didn’t realize what he had said as he fell asleep. Grantaire, though, heard _exactly_ what Enjolras had said loud and clear, and left the bed with a mumbled, “Oh, shit.”

 

9

 

Enjolras opened his eyes groggily as Combferre barged in through the dormitory door. "Rise and shine, doll face," he said, his eyes twinkling and a grin on his face.  "Grantaire is already at breakfast, and you are the last patient that I needed to wake up."

"Ugh, why are you so . . . Awake?" He rubbed the sleep off his eyelashes and yawned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. When he saw Combferre's shocked expression, though, he remembered his lack of clothing from a few hours before and covered his lap up with the sheet, his face red.

Combferre coughed. "Uhm, I . . . will wait in the hall for you." He turned as quickly as he could and pulled the door shut behind him. Enjolras waited a few seconds to make sure that Combferre wouldn't return before pulling the sheet off and grabbing his boxers. He crouched down and looked under the bed, reaching towards the wall the grab his sweats and his tee-shirt. He put them on before slipping on his slippers and going into the hall.

"You can look now," he told Combferre, yawning again. Combferre nodded and looked over. They began to walk down the hall. They had gotten halfway down when Enjolras said, "So, did things go well with Courfeyrac last night?"

Combferre's embarrassed expression went away, and his grin came back full-force. "Yeah, we did. He ended up sleeping with me, and I snuck him back to his room an hour or so before the other orderlies arrived."

Enjolras nodded before a thought came to mind. "Does Courf have a roommate? I don't understand how you and Grantaire have done so much if either of them had roommates, other than me."

Combferre nodded. "He shared a room with Joly for a while, but Joly had a really bad episode and was moved to an independent room. He had a roommate named Benjamin next, but Benjamin got into a fist-fight with one of the other orderlies. He knocked him out."

"Damn."

"Yeah. He's rooming with Jonathon now. Jonathon doesn't care whether Courfeyrac is there or not, as long as Courf doesn't rat _him_ out for all of the things that he stashes in a hollowed-out part of one of his poetry volumes."

Enjolras was about to ask Combferre how he still had a job with all the things that went against regulations that he didn’t report, but he was not able to, as they reached the dining hall. Combferre left Enjolras to walk between the aisles of chairs. Enjolras went over to Grantaire and Courfeyrac, giving them a tired smile. "Morning."

Grantaire didn't look at Enjolras. Instead, he turned to Courfeyrac. "I'll talk to you later." He kept his eyes down as he stood up and walked away. Enjolras watched him with a look of confusion in his eyes, and a heavy feeling settling in his stomach.

Courfeyrac watched with the same confusion. "What the fuck?" he muttered, turning to look at Enjolras. "Did you two have a fight or something? I thought he was too gone on you to ignore you like that."

Enjolras shook his head. "I don't think so . . . everything seemed fine before I fell asleep." He shook his head. "I don't think I said anything wrong."

He reached a hand up and bit down on his thumb, his heart beginning to race as panic set in. Oh God, he had screwed things up, hadn't he? Grantaire had said that he didn't care that Enjolras couldn't go down on him, but it was obvious that he did. Enjolras had really enjoyed Grantaire pleasuring him, and he felt a deeper connection with him than he had with anyone in his life, and that was the truth. He may be new to the emotional side of his life, but he knew enough to know that what he was feeling ran deeper than just lust. Part of it may have been fueled by the medication he was taking, but he didn't care. He wanted to see where things could go with Grantaire. He thought that Grantaire did, too, but maybe he was wrong. .

He shook his head, trying to calm his breathing down. What was that technique that Dr. Valjean had taught him? He needed to do something, before he had a repeat of last night. Oh! He remembered now. He was supposed to breath in slowly through his nose for eight counts, then breathe out through his mouth for ten.

He closed his eyes and followed Dr. Valjean's instructions. It took several attempts before Enjolras was feeling calmer, but sure enough, within two minutes he had driven away the panic attack and was able to talk to Courfeyrac normally again. He changed the subject away from Grantaire and him. "How did things go with Combferre? He said that you stayed with him last night."

Courfeyrac blushed. "A lady never spills her secrets," he teased, fluttering his lashes.  Enjolras rolled his eyes.

"All right, fine. Speaking of secrets, why didn't I know that Jonathon is your roommate?" Enjolras smiled at an orderly as they gave him his breakfast before looking back at Courfeyrac. He took a bite of his toast, grimacing when the mushy texture hit his tongue. "Ugh, and how long did it take for you to get used to this food?"

"Give it another month or so, and you'll hardly even notice how disgustingly bland everything is here. As for Jonathon, I didn't realize you didn't know that. Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't, but I just thought you had your own room, that's all."

Courfeyrac nodded absentmindedly, his eyes drifting over to Combferre, who was leaning against the outside wall with his arms crossed, a playful smile on his face as he talked to some orderly that Enjolras had never seen before. He had spiked black hair with streaks of blue in it, and had a piercings on both side of his lips. He had his thumb hooked into the waistband of his uniformed blue scrubs, revealing the top of a tattoo on his prominent hipbones.

“Who’s that?” Enjolras asked, studying the way that the orderly was eyeing Combferre with half-lidded eyes. Combferre didn’t seem to notice, and just kept on talking, gesturing with his hands as he told some story.

Courfeyrac made a disgusted noise. Enjolras looked over at him, an eyebrow raised. “That’s Montgomery, some new punk-douche that Valjean hired to replace that orderly that Benjamin knocked out.” He scoffed. “I don’t see why, though. There’s nothing special about him.”

“Have you talked to him already?”

“Fuck no.” Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, glaring across the room. “I won’t talk to him unless I have to.”

“How do you know he’s not all right then?”

Courfeyrac sputtered and tried to come up with an answer. When he couldn’t, he shook his head and looked at Enjolras’s plate. “Finish eating so we can get the fuck away from that douche.”

“Fine.” Enjolras ate the rest of his “toast,” trying his hardest not to gag as he choked it down. It was becoming more and more obvious how irritated Courfeyrac was getting, though. He was grinding his teeth, and was rotating his fingers into fists. Every time Combferre looked over, though, Courfeyrac looked away as quickly as possible before turning his eyes back to the duo.

When Enjolras had pushed the plate away, Courfeyrac muttered, “Finally,” before throwing the chair back and storming out of the dining hall. Enjolras followed him, quickening his pace until he was nearly running in order to keep up with him.

Courfeyrac didn’t stop moving until Enjolras and he were in a courtyard. Just like the roof, Enjolras didn’t have any idea that there was anywhere on the institution grounds that patients were allowed to enter. Courfeyrac went over to a table in a corner of the grounds, where a dark-haired Latina girl was sitting and reading a book. “Hey, Eponine,” Courfeyrac said, glancing behind Enjolras for a moment before turning back to the girl, his hand out. “Hit me up.”

Eponine reached into the top of her shirt before dropping something in Courfeyrac’s hand. “Does your friend want one?”

“Sure.” He popped whatever was in his hand and swallowed before holding his hand back out, giving Enjolras an oval-shaped white pill.

Enjolras took the pill before asking, “What did I just take?”

Eponine flipped a page in her book. “Percocet.” She skimmed the opening paragraph before looking back at Courfeyrac. “Where’s Grantaire? He’s never missed a co-ed courtyard day.”

“Damned if I know. He said that he’d catch up with me later, but he stormed out when Enjolras came in to breakfast this morning.”

Eponine’s eyes widened as she looked at Enjolras. “Oh, _you’re_ Enjolras? Combferre told me _all_ about Grantaire and your little ‘just friends’ charade.”

Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t know that Combferre worked upstairs, too.”

“Yeah, he gets stuck up there once a week. Grantaire introduced him and Eponine a few months ago.”

Enjolras nodded and looked back at Eponine, who smirked at him. She stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth before saying, “Did you do something to scare him off?” She winked. “What, are you bad in bed, or what?”

When Enjolras didn’t say anything, Eponine burst into laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my God, you are!”

“I am not!” Enjolras exclaimed, his face burning red and his panic coming back to him. He had almost forgotten that he had panicked during a blowjob, but Eponine’s commentary brought him back full-circle. He had to close his eyes and repeat Dr. Valjean’s exercise.

He opened his eyes to a pleasant surprise, though. Grantaire was sitting across the table from him, holding his hand out to Eponine in the same way that Courfeyrac had. Eponine gave handed him one before lying her head on his shoulder and staring up at him. “Gabriel came to visit me the other day. He said that Mom and Dad officially kicked him out.”

Grantaire wound his arm around Eponine’s shoulders and kissed her on the top of the head. Enjolras felt a twinge of jealousy swirl in his stomach. Grantaire didn’t even say ‘hello’ to him, but he gave Eponine a kiss without a second thought? “I’m sorry, Eponine. Did he go to Marcus’s house, like I told him to?”

Eponine nodded. “Yeah, he did. Marcus is the one that brought him, actually. He has Annie, too.”

“Damn. Did Gabriel say why?”

Enjolras leaned over to Courfeyrac as Eponine and Grantaire got deeper in to their conversation. “Who’s Gabriel?”

“Eponine’s younger brother, and one of Grantaire’s cousins.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened. “They’re related?”

“Yeah, Eponine’s mom and Grantaire’s mom are sisters. They are totally different from one another, though. Mrs. Abrams came in to visit Grantaire once right after I came here, and she didn’t seem too bad. I don’t think she has visited since then, though.” He shook his head, getting off topic. “Mrs. Thernardier, though, she’s the definition of _cunt_. Eponine came here like three months ago to help her get over her eating disorder, and when Mrs. Thernardier found out, she sent Eponine a letter commenting on how good it was that Eponine was finally ‘getting her fatass into shape.’”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Enjolras turned his eyes to Grantaire and Eponine again, the feeling of jealousy dissipating completely as he recognized the familial bond the two shared. He reached one of his feet out and linked it around Grantaire’s ankle, giving him a small smile when Grantaire looked up. Grantaire averted his eyes and turned back to Eponine, giving her a quick squeeze before mumbling something about needing to go and talk to Dr. Valjean. He got up and walked away from the table, crossing his arms over his stomach.

Enjolras didn’t say anything to Courfeyrac or Eponine before getting up and following him. “Grantaire, wait!” he yelled, quickening his pace much like he had with Courfeyrac.

Grantaire didn’t even slow down. Enjolras narrowed his eyes and let out a low growl. “Grantaire!”

He finally managed to get near to Grantaire, and he lunged forward and grabbed his wrist. “Dammit, Grantaire, stop!”

“What do you want?” Grantaire spun around and glared at Enjolras, his eyes hard and his voice cold. Enjolras dropped his arm, shocked by the way that Grantaire was acting.

“What’s your problem? Why won’t you talk to me?” He bit his lip. “I thought you said that last night was fine.”

“Well it wasn’t, all right? _Nothing_ about last night was all right.”

Enjolras backed away as though he had been struck, his throat tight. “What?”

Grantaire let out a groan and widened his fingers, making his hands go stiff. “I can’t do this.” He turned and began to walk away.

Enjolras chased after him again. “What? Grantaire, I don’t understand. You told me that you wanted to give me new memories, and that it was okay that I freaked out when I was pleasuring you orally.” He reached down and interlaced their fingers. “I’m sorry I don’t know how to give you a good blowjob, but I’ll get better at it, I promise. I just have to . . . get over things. I _really_ like you, though.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras in confusion for a moment before he shook his head. “Enjolras, this has nothing to do with how good you are or aren’t at sucking me off. This has everything with what you said before you fell asleep. I’m not ready.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything when I went to sleep last night. You made me forget about Cody and made me orgasm, and then I went to sleep. I didn’t say anything to you other than that I enjoyed what we had done.”

“You really don’t know what you said, do you?”

Enjolras shook his head and grasped Grantaire’s hand tighter. “No! I have no idea!” He sighed. “Look, Grantaire, all I know is that I have never had feelings for _anyone_ before, so all this is brand new to me. I’ve never even wanted to be sexual with someone until I met you, so I’m sorry that I don’t do or say the right things yet. I’m feeling twenty-four years of emotions in two weeks, and I don’t know how to handle any of this.”

Grantaire stared at Enjolras for several long seconds before sighing. “All right, fine.”

Enjolras wasn’t so sure that everything was fine, though. Grantaire still had a look of apprehension in his eyes, and he was grinding his teeth. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, okay? Just drop it. I’m sorry that I was avoiding you.”

Enjolras swallowed. “Do you want to go back out and talk to Eponine and Courfeyrac some more, then? Eponine seems like she really needs you right now, and Courfeyrac is all paranoid and freaked out about some new orderly, Monty or Maurie or something.”

Grantaire went pale. “Montgomery?” he asked, his voice tight and his eyes wide.

“Yeah, that was it!” Enjolras gestured with his head back toward the courtyard. He squeezed Grantaire’s hand again before pulling him back towards their friends.

He was so happy that his lack of blowjob skills hadn’t ruined what he had with Grantaire that he didn’t even notice how pale his roommate had become.

 

 

10

The weeks went by, and everything seemed to be falling into place. Enjolras’s medicine had _finally_ evened out, and he was feeling much more like himself. Sure, he was still panicky and worried about the effects of what he was saying and doing on his relationships, but he didn’t feel as meek and scared as he had earlier that month. He had even moved past his experience with Cody enough to successfully go down on Grantaire, although he still felt as though he had a lot to improve upon. Grantaire didn’t seem to mind, though, and they were happier together than they had been apart.

Two days before Courfeyrac was supposed to be released back into the real-world, though, everything changed.

 

***

 

“Ugh, oatmeal again?” Courfeyrac groaned, pushing his bowl of breakfast away from him with a disgusted sneer. He threw his spoon as it, sticking his tongue out when the utensil stood straight up in the sticky mush. “We’re mentally ill patients, not prisoners. You’d think they’d want to feed us good shit so we get better faster.”

Grantaire scoffed, reaching out and taking the bowl. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vile of some sort of powdery substance, which he tipped into Courfeyrac’s meal before handing it back to him. “Try it now. I found some of whatever this is in the employee lounge last night.” He leaned over and dusted Enjolras’s oatmeal as well before sliding it back into the waistband of his sweats.

Enjolras waited until Courfeyrac had taken a cautionary bite before trying the oatmeal himself. The mush was still rather bland and glue-like, but the powder gave it enough of a kick to make it palatable. “When did you go to the employee lounge?” he asked, kicking Grantaire in the ankle. “You were in the room all night, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but you fell asleep on me, and I needed something to do to entertain myself, since I _definitely_ was not tired yet.” His eyes drifted down to his crotch for a moment before he looked back up at Enjolras, cocking an eyebrow. Enjolras blushed, remembering the sudden burst of exhaustion he felt the night before in the middle of giving Grantaire a hand job, and yes, he _had_ fallen asleep before Grantaire had finished.

Courfeyrac snorted. “Nice going, Enjolras.”

“Shut up.” Enjolras blushed harder, and he looked down at his bowl, awkwardly pushing the goo around so that it formed mountains on either side of the bowl. He stared down at the shapes he was making, tuning out the innuendos and jabs that Courfeyrac was giggling bout with Grantaire.

When the atmosphere grew tense, however, Enjolras had no choice but to look up, and boy was he glad that he did. Montgomery was standing next to Grantaire, a hand on his shoulder and his leg propped up on the side of his chair. “Morning, Mr. Abrams,” he said, smacking his gum and popping a bubble in Grantaire’s face. “Delicious breakfast, isn’t it?”

“Shove off, Montgomery.” Grantaire pushed his chair back, causing Montgomery to tip forward, his hand landing in the oatmeal as he tried to brace himself. His expression hardened. He pulled his hand out and shook it, flinging the mush all over the table. He let out an irate breath through his nose and leaned over closer to Grantaire, wiping the remaining oatmeal all over the chest of Grantaire’s shirt.

“You will regret that, boy,” he said, spitting in Grantaire’s face. Grantaire sneered and started to stand up.

Enjolras reached over and grabbed Grantaire’s wrist. “Grantaire, stop. It isn’t worth it.” Grantaire didn’t answer. He continued to rise, a look of pure and utter hatred on his face. “Grantaire!”

It took a moment, but Grantaire came back into himself, and he sat back down in his chair. He turned his glare to Enjolras, trying his hardest not to look anywhere besides those blue eyes. Montgomery, though, wasn’t having it, and continued to try to get into Grantaire’s head. “That’s no fun, Mr. Abrams. You _know_ that you deserve to be here. Everything you’ve ever done in your measly little life has led to you losing your mind and spending the rest of your days locked inside these white wa―”

“Montgomery!”

Enjolras looked away from Grantaire to see Combferre standing behind Montgomery, his hands on his hips and his eyes narrowed. Montgomery let out another deep breath. He pulled Grantaire closer for a moment before pushing him down onto the ground as hard as he possibly could. Combferre grabbed the back of Montgomery’s shirt and yanked him into a standing position, moving him until he was behind Combferre, and away from the table. “You okay, Grantaire?” he asked, using his free hand to reach down and pull Grantaire up off the ground.

“Yeah.” Grantaire steadied himself before turning on his heel and storming away. Enjolras looked back and forth between Combferre and Grantaire before getting up as well, running behind Grantaire.

It took a few minutes to find Grantaire (who was extremely quick) but, eventually, Enjolras found him in one of the bathrooms, alternating between kicking the tile walls as hard as he could, and punching one of the mirrors. Enjolras ran behind him and grabbed his arm before he had the chance to strike the glass again. “Grantaire, stop!”

“Leave me alone!” Grantaire ripped his arm from Enjolras’s hand and set back on destroying the mirror.

“Grantaire! Stop! What if an orderly catches you? They’ll tranquilize!”

“I don’t care!” He kicked the wall as hard as he could, letting out a wail when the bones in his toes made a loud popping sound. He reached down and grabbed his foot, his breath coming out in rapid pants as he gripped the blood-soaked tip of his sock. “God dammit!”

Enjolras hesitated before moving forward and wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s shoulders, pressing his head down to his chest as Grantaire began to cry. “Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed, moving a hand up to stroke Grantaire’s hair. “Everything is okay.”

“No it isn’t,” Grantaire sobbed, moving a hand up to lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “I have to see that _scum_ every day. I came here to escape from him, not to see him!”

Enjolras looked down at Grantaire in confusion. “I thought you came here to fix yourself.” Grantaire began to cry harder, his eyes growing wide as he started to hyperventilate. Enjolras reacted quickly, rubbing Grantaire’s back. “Grantaire, follow my voice. Breath in, and out. In, and out.”

Grantaire did as Enjolras said, and soon, he was calm enough to tell Enjolras the truth. He pulled Enjolras to the floor with him, hugging Enjolras’s arm to his chest and leaning his head against his shoulder. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I came here to help with my episodes. Montgomery was definitely part of that, though. When I was eighteen or nineteen, I got in with the wrong crowd. I was taking a _lot_ of drugs, and I was doing a lot of things that I shouldn’t have in order to get those drugs.”

Enjolras scoffed. “You _still_ take a lot of drugs.”

Grantaire shook his head. “Not like the relaxation-shit that Courfeyrac and Eponine and I take. Like . . . bad shit. _Hardcore_ shit. Like heroin, and cocaine.” He looked down at the floor. “Montgomery was one of my dealers, which was fine, until he started lacing my shit was something else. I don’t know that it was, but it made my mood swings a lot worse, and I hurt a lot of people. I pushed away everyone that cared about me, and I became physically violent. That’s when I ended up here.”

“Wait . . . I still don’t understand. I get that you hate Montgomery for messing with your drugs, but what does he have against you? That little display that he showed couldn’t just be because he lost you as a customer, could it?”

Grantaire shook his head. “He wasn’t just my dealer. We were pretty good friends for a while, actually, even after he stared screwing me over. I knew that something was up when he started charging me less than he was before, but I figured that maybe he was just making enough money that it didn’t matter if he was getting two grand from me a month or five grand. What I didn’t realize, though, was that sometime during our friendship, he had developed feelings for me, and he thought that if I had a more prominent high, he would get what he wanted. I still don’t think he understands that he’s what fucked up my episodes, though.” 

Enjolras’s mind whirled, and he began to feel sick to his stomach. He knew that there had to be other people in the world other than him who had been interested in Grantaire, but simply knowing about it and hearing about it made him feel two very different emotions, especially when the other person was as handsome as Montgomery was. “That still doesn’t explain why he’s so mad at you, though.”

Grantaire let out a pained chuckled. “Have you ever noticed that Montgomery has a scar across his cheek, from the corner of his eye to the side of his lip?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I’ve never been close to him, other than when he is around you. Combferre or Nick always bring me my meds.”

“Well, he does, and it’s from me. He tried to kiss me one night, and I full-on freaked out on him. I had been doing an ink drawing, so I had my calligraphy pen in my hand. When he grabbed me and planted on one me, I pushed him away before attacking his face with my pen. He got that scar, and he also lost the eyesight in his right eye.” He reached a hand up to the back of his neck uncomfortably. “That’s why he hates me so much. He was in his last few weeks of training to become a pilot, and losing half of his sight meant that he was automatically voided of the rest of his education.”

Enjolras was still feeling confused, but he decided that it was better not to comment than to keep on asking questions. The more that he listened, the more that he felt as though he was starting to learn too much. He had enough experience with narks and bad men to know that if certain information got out, or if too many people knew about one thing, bad things happened. He remembered Judge Kendricks telling him a story once, on a day that they had gone out to lunch to discuss one of Enjolras’s most recent rallies. He had been protesting the lack of protective services for transgendered youths in public high schools across the country, a topic that Judge Kendricks had a rather soft spot for.

They had somehow gotten on the topic of a detective that Judge Kendricks had known back before she had become a judge. This detective had gone undercover as a woman for six months in order to fit in with a gang of young female bioterrorists. He had successfully managed to fool all of the women . . . except for one. Her perceptiveness allowed her to see that something was amiss with the gang’s newest member, and she tried her hardest to convince the other girls of the same. The agent contacted one of his friends, and the troubled-woman was removed from the equation with the help of a well-armed sniper before she even had time to utter “she’s a he.”

Enjolras did not want to become the target of Montgomery’s sniper.

Grantaire didn’t notice Enjolras’s reluctance, and he continued in. “I thought that coming here would give myself enough distance from him to get myself under control, and to wean myself completely away from who I was in the past. I never told him where I was, but obviously he must have found out, as here he is.” He shook his head sadly before giving Enjolras a tight smile. “Thank you for keeping me from hurting him at breakfast. If you hadn’t stepped in when you did, I wouldn’t be able to get out of here in a month-and-a-half. You really saved me.”

He moved so that he was sitting on his heels. He took Enjolras’s face between his hands, leaning forward to kiss him gently. Enjolras leaned in and kissed back, fireworks exploding behind his eyes just like they had done every single time Grantaire and he shared a kiss, or more.

Unfortunately, no matter how into the kiss Enjolras and Grantaire were, they weren’t able to block out the commotion that suddenly erupted in the hallway right outside of the bathroom. They men quickly split apart and stood up, both knowing that if they got caught, there would be trouble. Enjolras stood up and raced into the hall first. His eyes widened when he saw what was going on.

A few feet away from him, Courfeyrac and Montgomery were in a full-on fist-fight. Combferre was passed out against the wall, one of his eyes swollen shut, and blood running down from the corner of his mouth. His uniform was ripped, and three of his teeth were scattered on the floor around his feet. Joly was sitting next to him, his shirt up over his mouth to keep the germs away as he shoved at Combferre, trying to get him to wake back up. Jonathon was attacking Montgomery from behind, pulling on his hair and kicking his feet out from under him so that Courfeyrac had better leverage. The rest of the patients were sprawled out around them, watching the fight with a mixture of fear and entertainment as they dodged and dived to get out of Courfeyrac’s way.

As the patients began to chant Courfeyrac’s name, the rest of the orderlies who had been in other areas of the floor rushed in to settle the commotion. When they saw the state that Combferre was in, the strongest of the men lunged forward to pull Montgomery, Jonathon, and Courfeyrac apart while two of the other orderlies raced down the hall to grab the tranquilizers, as well as to get Dr. Valjean.

However, it seemed that Dr. Valjean already knew what was going on, as he came running down the hall with two police officers behind him. “Arrest that man!” he yelled, pointing at the trio. The officers looked at each other in confusion before looking back at Dr. Valjean. Dr. Valjean grabbed one of the officer’s and pulled him over to Montgomery.

Montgomery looked at Dr. Valjean with wide eyes. “Doctor, I’ve done nothing wrong! Mr. McCartney and Mr. Proust, _they_ are the ones that attacked _me_!”

Dr. Valjean shook his head, pointing to a small black ball in the ceiling above Montgomery’s head. “Montgomery, I showed you our security cameras on your very first day here. You _know_ that I can see everything from my office computer, as well as from my phone.” He pulled the device out of his pocket and turned it towards the spiky-haired man. Enjolras leaned forward, straining to see whatever it was that Dr. Valjean was showing.

The video played to clearly show Montgomery repeatedly striking Combferre in the face, as well as Courfeyrac running over with a panicked expression on his face as he tried to see if Combferre was okay. Montgomery had a look of anger on his face, and slammed Courfeyrac’s head into the wall. Courfeyrac made sure that Combferre was safe before getting up and retaliating, which led to where they were now.

Dr. Valjean clicked the video off and slid it into his pocket, shaking his head. “I had such high hopes for you, Montgomery.” He looked back at the officers. “Take him away.”

The officers pulled Montgomery behind them as they led him out to their car. Montgomery was yelling something, but he was drowned out by the sound of blood rushing to Enjolras’s ears as Grantaire stepped out into the hall, his eyes wide and his body trembling. He walked over to Dr. Valjean slowly, his sock leaving a trail of blood on the linoleum ground below him, and the glass in his hands sparkling under the fluorescent lights.

Grantaire reached a hand out and grabbed Dr. Valjean’s shoulder. “Dr. Valjean, I need to talk to you about my most recent episode,” he said, his voice tight and his skin pale and clammy. Dr. Valjean skimmed his eyes up and down Grantaire’s body before nodding and wrapping an arm around his waist, leading him down the hall and towards his office.

Enjolras watched the duo leave before turning back around to Combferre and Courfeyrac. The crowd had dispersed when the officers had arrived, and even Jonathon had left to give Combferre and Courfeyrac some space.

Courfeyrac was leaning his forehead against Combferre’s, and was using the edge of his shirt to wipe the blood away from Combferre’s chin and lip. He had gathered up the teeth and held them in one hand, spinning them between his fingers before slipping them into Combferre’s pocket.

Enjolras coughed to get Courfeyrac’s attention. Courfeyrac looked up. Enjolras came over to him, crouching down and putting a hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Can you help me carry him to medical?”

“Yeah, of course.” Enjolras put an arm around Combferre’s back, as well as one under one of his legs. Courfeyrac did the same thing on the other side, and together, they carried him to the medical wing. Under normal circumstances, they would not be allowed to enter the wing, but what had happened to Combferre had spread to the other orderlies, and they were more than happy to help get Combferre fixed back up.

Once Combferre had been repaired and had woken back up, Enjolras returned to his room to let Combferre and Courfeyrac have some time to themselves.

 

11

 

Enjolras collapsed down on his bed. He rolled over and stared at the ceiling, his mind still whiring with everything that Grantaire had revealed to him. He had known that something had happened to Grantaire to get him where he was today, but he never imaged that his past would be so dark.

Even with all that he found out, however, the majority of his thoughts were focused on doing whatever it took to make sure that Grantaire was okay. If the look on his face when he was talking to Dr. Valjean was anything to go by, Grantaire needed far more help than Enjolras was able to supply, even with the almost-two-years that Grantaire had already spent in the institution. He needed a stronger dose of his medication, and he needed a way to be sure that his past wouldn’t keep coming back to haunt him, neither of which Enjolras could provide.

Before Enjolras knew it, he had grown so relaxed thinking about Grantaire that he had fallen asleep.

 

***

 

 _Enjolras was in a courtroom, sitting in the witness seat. He was staring out into a crowd of people whom were each missing some essential part of their body, be it their eyes, their noses, their mouths, their limbs, or even their hearts. Grantaire was sitting next to a lawyer, his mouth stitched shut with the word_ traitor _. Judge Kendricks was sitting in the judge’s chair, and there was a faceless man sitting next to another lawyer across the room._

_The faceless man’s lawyer stepped up to Enjolras, and put his hands behind his back. He tipped his head down and looked at Enjolras through his eyelashes. “Mr. Macray, you have been having an intimate relationship with the accused for the past several months, is that correct?”_

_Enjolras bit his lip before shaking his head. “I’ve only known him for two months.”_

_The lawyer snapped his fingers, and a notebook appeared in his hand. He flipped to one of the pages, and scoured over whatever it said. He raised an eyebrow, twirling a toothpick in between his wisdom teeth. “It says here that you spent ten years side-by-side with this man, an account written by your very own doctor. Are you calling him a liar?”_

_Enjolras shook his head. “No, Dr. Valjean isn’t a liar, but the information isn’t correct. I’ve only been at the Attley since the end of September. That’s where I met Grantaire.”_

_The lawyer shook his head again. “I am not talking about Dr. Valjean, son. I am talking about Dr. Jones. Do you remember what Dr. Jones was seeing you for?”_

_“I do not know a Dr. Jones.”_

_The lawyer clicked his tongue. “See, that is another inconsistency, son. It says here that you began seeing Dr. Emmett Jones when you were seven for an overactive imagination, and rather strange behavior for a child. It says here that you . . . ” he flipped to another page. He took his toothpick and threw it on the ground before spitting on top of it. “It says that you tried to remove the fur off your grandmother’s cat when you were nearly six, and that you told your sister when you were seven that the creatures in her closet were going to kill her that night while she was asleep. I see that_ _―_ _”_

_“I don’t have a sister.”_

_The lawyer raised an eyebrow at the interruption. “Excuse me?”_

_Enjolras cleared his throat. “I said, I don’t_ have _a sister. It’s always just been me and my parents.” He shook his head. “Besides, I don’t see how this is relevant to Grantaire’s case.”_

_“Who’s Grantaire? This trial here is for you, Mr. Macray.”_

_Enjolras looked at the lawyer in confusion before turning to look at Grantaire. His eyes widened when he saw that Grantaire had disappeared, and another Enjolras sat staring back at him with a nefarious smirk on his face, and blood on his hands. Enjolras let out a strangled noise before looking over at the faceless man._

_Where the faceless man once sat was a young Enjolras, a terrified look on his face and tears running down his cheeks. He was holding a beat-up stuffed bunny to his chest, and was muttering something into one of its ears as he looked around at all the adults hurriedly._

_The real Enjolras looked into the crowd, swallowing thickly when he saw that the disfigured people had disappeared, and had been replaced by a young girl with long blonde hair and green eyes. She couldn’t have been any older than five or six. She was a pale blue in color, and had several bruises around her neck and under her eyes._

_God . . . her eyes. The corneas had gone a deep red in color, and the irises were so damaged that they were mere speaks in the extreme circle of her pupils. She stared at Enjolras with a look of fear, and tears of blood streamed down her cheeks and dripped onto the light pink nightgown that she was wearing._

_Enjolras put a hand over his mouth and let out a sob. He had no idea who this child was, but something about her screamed a familiarity that Enjolras had never know before._

_The lawyer gave Enjolras a lingering look before turning to the girl. “The next witness I call forward is Claire Joyce Macray.”_

Enjolras jolted awake, his heart racing and tears streaming down in rivers from the corners of his eyes. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his breathing down enough for him to think properly about what he had just dreamed about. Claire Joyce Macray . . . that name didn’t sound even remotely like anyone that he knew. That little girl, though . . . she _had_ to be related to Enjolras. She had the same long, wavy blonde hair, and the same doe-like viridian eyes. He didn’t remember having a sister, but maybe he was wrong . . .

No! That couldn’t be the case. It was just a bad dream, and dreams weren’t reality. He had grown up having dreams about people that were half-human, half-plant, as well as of whole planets dominated by different colored elephants. The little girl in his dream was just a figment of his imagination. Besides, the more that he thought about it, the more that he remembered having an imaginary friend when he was a child. He didn’t remember the friend’s name, but she had to be the same person, right? And her “death,” whatever that was about, simply occurred because Enjolras had grown too old to believe in fairytales anymore.

That had to be it.

Enjolras rubbed his eyes, trying to shake away the uneasy feeling that filled his gut. He wished the Grantaire had come back to the room. He knew that a few minutes of talking to the man (or more, if they could get it past the orderlies) would make him feel worlds better.

Regardless, he needed _someone_ to talk to, or he would slip back into dreamland. He pushed himself off the bed and walked down the hall to the common room. Grantaire wasn’t there, and neither were Courfeyrac nor Combferre. He figured that they were likely still in the medical ward, trying to get Combferre all patched up, although he figured it to be just as likely that Combferre was sent home to recover, and Courfeyrac was in his room sulking.

Enjolras would just have to settle for Jonathon , who was back for his fourth stay since Enjolras had arrived, to talk to. He walked over to the couch that the boy inhabited every day from ten until noon. Sure enough, Jonathon was there, his legs thrown over the arm and his head buried in a mound of pillows. He was reading a collection of Byron poems, as well as doodling different floral patterns on his arm with a pen that he had snuck in.

Enjolras sat down on the coffee table that was next to the couch. He reached forward and lifted the book off of Jonathon’s lap. He skimmed the first poem before wrinkling his nose and putting the book back down. In general, he didn’t mind poetry, but there was something about Byron’s words that just rubbed his the wrong way.

Jonathon turned his head towards Enjolras and smiled, his feminine features growing soft and his silky locks falling over one of the cushions. “Ah, dear Enjolras, do you not enjoy the songs that our Lord Byron sings?” Enjolras shook his head. Jonathon spun around and put his hands in his lap, interlacing his fingers in thought for a moment before leaning forward and taking one of Enjolras’s hands in his own. He took the pen and started scribbling a design on the inside of Enjolras’s wrist.

Once Jonathon had drawn a few spirals, he glanced up at Enjolras, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. “I would have thought that even you, Enjolras, would have had a soft spot for the gentle words of our fair poet. Why, he even has a tale of the dangers of our fiscal world!”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, and looked down at what Jonathon was drawing. What had started out as simple spirals had turned into an intricate design with birds and vines that followed the natural lines of Enjolras’s bones. It was beautiful.

Jonathon squeezed Enjolras’s hand, and Enjolras looked up. “It is true, friend. I’m sure he can melt the political statue that is your heart, if you would let him.” He put the pen down on the table and grabbed his anthology. He flipped to the table of contents, running his index finger down the list until he found the poem that he was looking for. Once he found it, he flipped to the correct page before handing the tome to Enjolras. “Here, love. Try this one. ‘The Destruction of Sennacherib’.”

Enjolras gave the book a wary look before taking it and skimming over the poem. By the time he had skimmed the second stanza, though, he found himself growing interested, and he started the poem again from the beginning. Jonathon was right, it was an interesting poem. However, he didn’t see the connection between the Assyrian’s plight and his own fight against capitalism. and the injustice in the world. He told Jonathon as much.

Jonathon’s smile grew, and he turned to grab another one of his books off of the table.  He looked around at the people around them before pulling the book close to his body. He hunched over to open it, quickly reaching inside and pulling out some sort of card from within its pages. Once he was done, he closed the book and pushed it away before using the card to mark Enjolras’s poem. He flipped the cover over and covered where Enjolras was holding the book with his own hands.

“My dear pupil, I would like for you to keep this book safe for me when I depart from this dreadful place in two days time. Mr. Byron has done more than his fair share of things for me over the years, and now it is his time to do the same for you. It is my hope that we shall not see each other in this world once I leave here, which makes it your responsibility to share his words with the world.”

Enjolras furrowed his brows, nodding slowly in response to Jonathon’s words. While he liked the poem, he couldn’t say that he felt as moved by the words as Jonathon clearly did. In fact, he was actually feel a slight bit of fear when it came to the emotion that Jonathon was showing. “Uhm, thanks?”

Enjolras took the book from Jonathon’s hands and looked around the room, desperately hoping that there was someone else that he could talk to. Luckily, it seemed that Courfeyrac and Grantaire had found their way back to the common room together, and were sitting at a table across the room, talking and making faces in Enjolras’s direction.

Jonathon seemed to sense Enjolras’s desire to leave, as he patted Enjolras on the knee before lying back down and drawing on his skin. Enjolras stared at him for a moment before standing up and walking across the room as quickly as he possibly could. He gave Grantaire and Courfeyrac an exasperated look before sitting down next to them. He sprawled his legs out and crossed his arms, reaching one hand up to press at his throbbing head as he tossed the book in front of Grantaire.

“Oh, my God, you two should have gotten here sooner,” Enjolras complained, letting out a groan and flopping his head down on to the table. “Jonathon started lecturing me about the ways that Byron fit my ‘anti-capitalistic view’.” He sat back up. “It was like listening to my grandmother explain to me what a fetish was.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “Oh, I want to hear more about that. How did that start out?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Don’t ask. I don’t want to remember.” He looked over at Grantaire. He reached out and took his hand, looking at the knuckles. They weren’t bleeding anymore, but they still sparkled slightly beneath the lights. A quick glance under the table showed that his toes were still bleeding, as well. “How are you feeling?”

Grantaire took his hand back, shrugging. He rubbed his knuckles and looked away. “I talked to Dr. Valjean about changing my medicine to something stronger.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He thinks that it’s a good idea, especially if I’m going to try to survive on my own outside of here. He thinks that I might go through some bad mood swings over the next week or two, though, just to warn you.”

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t really care, as long as they make you feel better.” He looked at Courfeyrac. “What about Combferre?”

Courfeyrac’s expression changed, and he reached a thumb up to his mouth. He chewed on his thumbnail before muttering, “He’ll be fine, but he’s going to be in the hospital for a few nights. Montparnasse broke his nose, as well as some of his ribs. Plus his right lung got punctured.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened. “Damn.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Yeah . . . ” He bit down on his thumb again before shaking it out and looking down at the floor dejectedly.

Enjolras reached out and squeezed Courfeyrac’s knee. “Hey, he’ll be okay. The doctors will be able to fix his lung, and then he’ll come back to work.”

Courfeyrac cleared his throat and shook his head. “Maybe. Dr. Valjean said he wasn’t sure if he wanted Combferre to come back, because it could be dangerous for him to work until his lung is totally healed.”

“Well wouldn’t that be a good thing? Then once he’s totally healed, you’ll be almost ready to get out, or resting will let him come back before you even know that he’s gone.”

Courfeyrac scoffed and put his head down on the table, resting his chin on his hands. “Yeah, like that would ever happen. He’s what keeps me going day in and day out at this fucking place.”

“Well, you _are_ the one that keeps doing things to get yourself stuck here longer.”

The moment that the words slipped out of Enjolras’s mouth, he knew that it was the wrong thing to say. He wasn’t meaning to be cruel, he really wasn’t. The hurt and angry expression that crossed Courfeyrac’s face before he stormed out, however, told Enjolras that he totally was.

Grantaire, too, looked both shocked and appalled at Enjolras’s words. He gave him a look of disbelief before shaking his head and standing up, leaving Enjolras alone at the table.

All Enjolras could do was stare at the empty seats and sigh.

 

12

 

By the time that the evening meal had rolled around, Courfeyrac and Grantaire had blocked out what Enjolras had said, and were joking around with him just like before. Enjolras was extremely glad for their company, especially when he saw that he would have to force down another bowl of some sort of mush. The announcement board said that dinner was chicken noodle soup and green beans, but Enjolras's fork was standing erect where he had left it in the bowl, and his "green beans" had gone a sickly shade of orange on either end. Grantaire's unknown powder was the only thing that made Enjolras capable of swallowing spoonful after spoonful.

Enjolras watched as Grantaire and Courfeyrac goofed off, reflecting back on an experience they had with one of the orderlies a few months before Enjolras arrived at the Attley. Grantaire adjusted his chair so that the orderlies couldn't see his wandering hand before teasing Enjolras, gently stroking his cock through his sweats as he smiled at him. "You should have seen it, Enjolras. Courf somehow convinced Combferre to help, and by the time that Milo left for the day, he was covered in 400 feathers, and had eaten nearly three dozen chocolate candies stuffed with Courf's toenail clippings."

Enjolras gagged. "Ugh, that's disgusting. What did this Milo guy do to deserve that?"

Courfeyrac and Grantaire shared a look before they both burst into laughter again. It took a few minutes for them to calm down, but once they had, Courfeyrac said, "It was Milo's first day, and we were having rec time in the courtyard, since it was so nice out. Grantaire and I were playing catch with a pinecone that we found, and it fell on the ground. I bent over to get it, and Milo was walking by. He made a comment about my ass then slapped it, trying to assert his power over me, you know, with me being a patient and all."

He made a face at Grantaire, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes. "Combferre didn't approve, and did everything he could to make sure that Milo knew that. My chocolates were just the icing on the cake."

"That still sounds absolutely revolting." Enjolras pushed Grantaire's hand away, his face burning as all of his blood ran south. Grantaire smirked and moved his hand down Enjolras's thigh. Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Disgusting."

"Hey, at least you didn't have to help Courfeyrac cut his nasty-ass toenails with a thumbtack that Combferre stole from Valjean's office." Grantaire shuddered. "They were yellow, and cracked, and . . . Blech. I still have nightmares about it."

"Do you remember how pissed Valjean was about it? He suspended Combferre for a week!"

"Yeah, and then you complained to him so much about how not having Combferre giving you your meds and how much you hated the new guy that he made Dr. Jones your doctor instead of him for, like, six months."

Courfeyrac snorted. "Yeah, that guy was a moron. He was all about the weird shit, like ECT and hypnosis, remember?"

Enjolras furrowed his brows. Dr. Jones . . . Why did that name sound so familiar?

Before Enjolras had a chance to think too much, or ask more about Dr. Jones, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Dr. Valjean staring at him, a warm smile on his face. "Hello, Mr. Macray. We need to have a little chat."

Enjolras stood up and, after giving Courfeyrac and Grantaire a wary look, followed Dr. Valjean out of the dining hall and to his office. He sat down, eying the plate of cookies Dr. Valjean had on a pink tray on the corner of his desk.

Dr. Valjean followed Enjolras's gaze before pushing him the plate. "Help yourself," he said, taking a cookie for himself. "I know the food here is sometimes hard to choke down. Besides, my daughter sent me more cookies in her last care package than I could eat by myself in three lifetimes."

Enjolras nodded his thanks and took one of the cookies. He took a bite. It was a molasses cookie, and was chewy and sweet on his tongue. He ate an entire cookie and part of a second one before looking up at Dr. Valjean. "You said we needed to talk, sir?"

Dr. Valjean nodded. He interlaced his fingers and placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward. "The last time we met, it seemed like you were starting to move past what happened when you were a child. I want to try something with you to see if we can push you a little bit further in your healing process. Would that be okay with you?"

Enjolras thought for a moment before nodding. After what he heard about some doctors favoring ECT and hypnosis, he was a little concerned, but he trusted Dr. Valjean and his decisions regarding Enjolras's treatment. "Yeah."

Dr. Valjean's smile grew, and he handed Enjolras another cookie. "Good. I thought about suggesting this before, but I wanted to wait until you were ready. There is a support group that meets three times a week, to talk about experiences with physical and sexual abuse as children. I would like for you to go there, once you leave here. It starts in twenty minutes, up on the third floor." He took his hands off his desk and leaned over to his phone. He picked up the receiver and clicked a button. "I need Colin to my office please." He hung up the phone and looked back at Enjolras. "Colin will escort you to the meeting, and stay there with you in case anything happens."

As promised, a few minutes later a tall, fresh-faced young man no older than twenty walked through the doors, his hair blowing in the air conditioning. He walked up to Dr. Valjean and nodded, linking his hands behind his back and placing his feet shoulder-length apart. "You called for me, sir?"

Dr. Valjean nodded. "I need you to escort Mr. Macray up to the third floor for tonight's meeting."

"Same procedure as normal, sir?"

"Yes, please." He looked back at Enjolras. "I'll see you first thing in the morning to see what you thought of it."He turned and began to type at his computer, blocking out the other two men in the room.

Enjolras stared at Dr. Valjean for a moment before turning his head to look at Colin. Colin nodded at him before turning sharply on his heel and walking out of the room. Enjolras followed him.

By the time they reached the third floor and Colin had unlocked the heavy metal door, Enjolras was less sure that this was a good idea. He didn’t want to talk about Cody with other people. Hell, he could barely talk about him with Grantaire, and they had been romantically involved for nearly two months! Why would he talk about what had happened to him with a bunch of strangers?

He followed Colin down a hallway that held doors to several rooms, all of which had large windows in the walls so that the orderlies and Dr. Valjean could see what was happening in each of the meetings. There only seemed to be one or two other meetings going on that night, though, other than the one that he was going to.

Colin pushed open a door and held it open for Enjolras, nodding curtly at him as he said, “I will remain out here so that anything you say is private. If you need anything, tell the group leader, and he will notify me. If anything should go wrong, or if a patient begins to experience an episode, the other orderlies and I will immediately come in and fix things.”

Enjolras nodded absent-mindedly before walking into the room, looking around at it. He was the first of the patients there, but by the number of chairs that were lined up in a circle, there seemed to be a fair deal of people involved in this meeting.

At one end of the room, an older man with a military hair cut and a scar across his cheek was pouring lemonade into cups. When Colin shut the door, he looked up in confusion before looking over his shoulder. When he saw Enjolras, he spun around, an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry, son, I didn't hear you come in. My name is Officer Michaels, but you can call me Jaime. What's your name?"

"Enjolras Macray, sir."

Jaime rolled his eyes. "Don't call me sir. We are equals here, son. This group provides a safe space for you to get over what happened to you, and you can't do that if you're afraid of saying the wrong thing in front of your superior." He looked over at the door as two more patients walked in. Enjolras was surprised to see that it was Jonathon and Joly, with Eponine behind a few minutes later. When they saw Enjolras, Jonathon and Eponine gave him a wave and came over to sit next to him. Joly walked over to the corner of the room and crossed his arms, rocking on his heels as he eyed the close proximity of the chairs nervously.

Jaime gave Joly a warm smile before holding a hand out and gesturing to a chair in the corner of the room that had a bottle of Clorox wipes next to it. "Joly, I made sure to get the extra strength ones this time, and I already sanitized your chair when I came in. Feel free to do so again, however."

Joly stopped rocking, and walked over to the chair. He moved it over so that it was closer to the group, but still a respectable distance away.

Ten minutes later, all of the chairs were filled, and the meeting was underway.

 

***

 

Once the meeting was over and curfew started, Enjolras followed Colin back down the stairs to the first floor, his hands in his pockets and a sick feeling in his stomach. Jesus, he had thought that his experience with Cody had been bad, but some of these people . . . Enjolras had nothing to complain about compared to them. He learned so much about the reasons why his new friends were wired the way that they were, but it was still a lot to take in.

Take Joly, for example. He had been raped when he was eleven, and was given some sort of skin infection that left him hospitalized for nearly three months when the infection spread. Hearing that made it a lot more clear why he was so petrified of germs. And Eponine, she had a teacher who blackmailed her into sex because of her voluptuous curves, and did so until she had lost so much weight she looked more like a skeleton than a woman.

What Enjolras wanted now, though, was just to forget about the stories he heard, and just be held. He made sure that Colin had left the hall and that the orderlies had taken their normal three-hour break from their rounds before pulling his skirt and sweats off and sliding into bed behind Grantaire.

Grantaire made a soft noise in his sleep before waking up and slowly rolling over, winding his arms around Enjolras's waist and kissing him on the forehead. "Hey, baby," he murmured, pulling Enjolras to his chest and running his fingers through his hair. "Where have you been all night? Dr. Valjean's sessions don't normally run this late."

Enjolras kissed Grantaire's collarbone. "Dr. Valjean wanted me to try one of the support meetings, to see if it will help me move past what happened in the past quicker." He nuzzled against Grantaire's chest, his eyes drifting shut. The shot open again, though, when he realized just how fast Grantaire's heart was racing. He pulled back and looked at his face. "Is everything okay? Your heart is beating really fast."

Grantaire nodded. "It's just one of the side effects of the new meds. Dr. Valjean said it would only last for a week or two." He gathered Enjolras's hair into a bun before pulling him back down to his chest. "Did the meeting help at all?"

For several moments, Enjolras didn't answer. He thought about his answer before saying, "I don't know."

"Well, you might have to go a few more times before you figure that out for certain. Dr. Valjean had me go to AA meetings when I started out here, as well as ones for people struggling with bipolar disorder. He had Courf go to some general-public ones about LGBT people whose families don't support them, too, but he only went like twice before he decided it wasn't for him."

Enjolras nodded. He leaned up and pulled Grantaire into kiss. "Right now, I just want to lay with you and forget about it."

"Okay." Grantaire hesitated for a moment before leaning his head against Enjolras's and whispering, "I love you."

Enjolras didn't even have to think about his answer. He had fallen so hard, so quickly, that it seemed like a lie to utter anything other than, "I love you, too."

So he did.

 

13

 

The next morning, Enjolras had breakfast with Courfeyrac and Grantaire like usual before going down the hall towards Dr. Valjean's office. He listened outside of the door for a moment before knocking. A few seconds later, a soft "come in" echoed from behind the wood.

Enjolras opened the door and stepped in. Dr. Valjean was working on something on his computer, and didn't even look up to see who had entered his office. He held up a finger as he continued typing, staring intently at his computer screen until he hit the enter button a few moments later. It was only then that he looked up to see who had disturbed him. When he saw it was Enjolras, he smiled. "Ah, hello, Enjolras. I see that you listened to what I said last night."

"Yes, sir."

Dr. Valjean's smile grew. "What did you think of the meeting? And Jaime? Did you like him?"

Enjolras nodded. "Yes, sir. He was very friendly."

Dr. Valjean waited for him to say more. When he didn't, Dr. Valjean urged him on with his hand. "And the meeting . . . ?"

Enjolras thought for a moment before saying, "It was fine."

"Did you talk at all?"

"No, sir. Eponine and Joly did, though."

Dr. Valjean nodded. "I figured they would. Joly is much more comfortable in group than he is one-on-one." He crossed his hands and put them behind his head. He leaned back in the chair and spun in a half circle, dragging his heels against the linoleum floor. "It would be best for you to try and talk a little bit at every meeting. You don't have to tell your whole story all at once. Talking in spurts will make it easier for you to share, and ultimately easier for you to move past it."

"Okay, sir. I will."

Dr. Valjean rolled his eyes. "I swear, you're as bad as Colin. Stop calling me 'sir'."

"Sorry, si-- I mean, sorry, Doctor."

Dr. Valjean rolled his eyes again. He moved his hands from behind his head and started waving his hand in the direction of the door. "Go get ready for today's outing, Enjolras."

Enjolras cocked his head at Dr. Valjean in confusion, his head cocked to the side. "Outing?"

"Did Mr. Abram not tell you?"

Enjolras thought back to their recent conversations before shaking his head. Even if they _had_ talked about it, Enjolras had been so distracted by Grantaire's wandering lips and gorgeous body. He thought he would have remembered something about leaving this prison, but it was entirely possible he had glossed over it in a fit of lust.

Dr. Valjean watched him for a moment before shrugging and filling him in. "Every so often, the board allows me to take the more stable of the patients to go out and spend a few hours outside of the hospital. Today we are going to the aquarium." He winked. "I hope you like fish. Now go, get out of my office. One of the orderlies has placed a proper pair of boxers, jeans, and a wool sweater in your room for you to wear out." Dr. Valjean turned back to his computer.

"Okay. Thank you." Enjolras got out of the chair and left the office.

Sure enough, when he got back to his room, there were clothes stacked neatly on his pillow. Grantaire was sitting on his own bed, his sketchbook in front of him and an array of colored pencils spread out on the sheet. He was working on a picture of a castle and a forest, complete with several different fantastical creatures fighting in the foreground. He looked up when Enjolras walked in, giving him a smile. "Hey, Enjolras."

"Hey, Grantaire." Enjolras cracked the door and stripped down, quickly changing into the new outfit. Once he was dressed, he let out a contented sigh, feeling more like a real person than he had in the two months that he had been in the Attley. It was amazing how different a good pair of jeans could make a man feel.

"Damn."

Enjolras looked up to see Grantaire staring at him hungrily. "What?"

Grantaire spun around so that his feet were on the floor. He gestured with his hand up and down the length of Enjolras's body. "Just you. You look hot as fuck in normal-people clothes."

Enjolras attempted to smile flirtatiously, but the snort that Grantaire let out made it far more likely that he looked constipated than flirty. Grantaire stood up and cast a glance at the door before giving Enjolras a quick kiss. "Today will be like a date for us, you know, since we obviously can't go on dates in this stupid place. Once I get out, though, I'll come and visit you, and then once you're out, we can be a real couple." He kissed Enjolras again.

Enjolras's heart began to beat faster at the thought. The first two months hadn’t felt very long, but the thought of ten more months of not being able to have a real relationship with Grantaire hurt more than he expected.

This was another side effect that Enjolras wasn't a huge fan of experiencing. He had experienced emotionally pain a few times, but in the past it had always just been a fleeting feeling. He had never been able to understand the long funks that other people went into, or the way that being sad could prevent them from doing their daily tasks and the things that needed to be done for the greater good of the people around them. Now that he could feel, though, he was beginning to understand why people moped around so much.

Before he could focus too deeply on his feelings, he was interrupted by a knock to the door. It was Colin. "Time to go," he said, nodding to Grantaire and Enjolras in turn before spinning on his heel and making his way to the next room.

Grantaire and Enjolras stepped out into the hall, and followed the other patients and the orderlies out of the building to a rusted school bus that had "Attley Mental Facility" printed on the side in chipped, blocky letters. "Are the girls coming too?" Enjolras whispered to Grantaire, thinking of Eponine.

Grantaire shook his head as the bus began to move. "The board keeps outings separate so that it's easier for the orderlies to keep track of the patients. Out of the fifteen of us on this floor, only seven of us are capable of going: me, you, Courf, Jonathon, and three other dudes who's names I don't remember. There's like seventeen or eighteen orderlies, though."

"Joly isn't going?"

"He's allowed to, but there's always too much of the public around for him to feel comfortable. He went, once, and freaked out so bad he had to be on tranquilizers for a week. Anytime he was off them, just the thought of being there sent him into a fit." He paused. "You know, that was the one time that I thought that Dr. Jones knew what he was doing. He did some hypnosis-voodoo-shit on Joly and made him forget the whole day ever existed.'

There was that name again. "So, who exactly is 'Dr. Jones'?" Enjolras finally asked after several moments of contemplation.

"He was one of the doctors here up until about four months ago. The board decided that his ways of helping his patients was unethical and took his license away. He was pretty pissed about it, especially since he had been working with patients for the better part of thirty years. Damaged children, mostly. If I remember right, though, he stopped working with children, though,++ when he nearly killed one of his patients, some thirteen- or fourteen-year-old schizophrenic up in New England somewhere. Combferre smuggled in an article for me about it right after Dr. Jones left."

Enjolras nodded along, his throat becoming dry. He couldn't believe that a doctor could screw up so badly. "What did he do to the kid?"

Grantaire thought for a moment before answering. "Uh . . . I think the kid's medicine stopped working, and Dr. Jones decided to try ECT to make the hallucinations go away. Either he put the dial too high, or too long, or there was a glitch in the machine, or something, because while it got rid of the kid's hallucinations, it fucked up  her mind real bad and took all of her memories away. He did his hypnosis-shit to give the kid her memories back."

Enjolras shook his head. "And Dr. Valjean let him mess with Joly's head? I can't believe the board even let him work at the Attley with a past like that."

Grantaire shrugged. "Well, they did."

"If he was that screwed up when he started, then what did he do that make the board take away his license?"

"He started doing experiments on the patients that he had outside of the Attley. He kept it under wraps, but somehow the board found out and, like I said, they found his procedures unethical."

"What were the experiments?"

Before Grantaire had a chance to answer, they were at the aquarium. They were ushered off the bus and into a single-file line, an orderly on each side of every patient. They walked in these rows of three until they were in the building, and the doors had been locked behind them.

The outing had officially begun.

 

***

 

Even though Enjolras had been excited to have a "date" with Grantaire, after their discussion about Dr. Jones, he couldn't help but feel distracted the entire day. He honestly couldn't even say that he remembered any of the sea life that he saw.

He looked across the room, where Grantaire was sleeping soundly in his bed. Enjolras had been lying with him, but he couldn't sleep, so he moved back to his own bed so he wouldn't wake his love.

He rolled back over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, letting out a long, deep breath. He didn't know why he was so stuck on what Grantaire said, but he was. Something in him was thirsty to know more. He desperately wanted to read the article that Grantaire had read, but he had no idea if Grantaire even kept the silly thing.

Then again . . . Enjolras was already wide awake, so what would it hurt to check and see if it was still within Grantaire's things? As long as he was quiet about it, he could check Grantaire's sketchbooks and novels without the other man ever knowing.

So that's what he did.

Nearly an hour later, Enjolras had found what he was looking for. It had been in a crumpled ball under Grantaire's bed, next to a piece of charcoal that had been broken in half. Enjolras gently unfolded the paper and tiptoed over to the window, where there was just enough light from both the moon and the lights in the courtyard to illuminate the single page. Enjolras still had to strain his eyes, but he could see well enough to make out the words.

**_Justice for Jones: Should He Be Allowed To Keep Practicing Psychiatry?_ **

_On Sunday, July 18, the world was changed forever for one mentally ill teenager  in North Hampton, Massachusetts when Dr. Emmett Jones made a fatal mistake in his decision regarding treatment: to use Electrical Current Therapy (ECT) in order to remove the teenager's audio and visual hallucinations when their medication stopped working correctly._

_When asked about the incident, a witness at the scene said that the patient's hair began to smoke a few seconds after the treatment began. Shortly after, the patient began to seize, and a vile smell filled the room. The witness said that Jones turned the electricity off, and removed the electrodes from the patient's head. Pieces of their scalp came with it. Where the skin remained intact, the patient had third-degree burns. The patient was also bleeding from their ears and their nose, and had lost control over their bladder and their bowels._

_The parents of the patient immediately called the police when they were told what happened to their son, and Jones was arrested for child endangerment. He was kept in jail overnight, but was released the next morning when his wife, Anna, paid the bail fee._

_"He only did what he thought was best for the child," A. Jones said about her husband. "He didn't know that it would end up like it did "_

_Dr. Jones refused to comment._

_The patient's family, however, was keen to speak. "We are suing Dr. Jones for everything he is worth," the patient's mother said, when asked what she and her husband planned to do next._

_"We trusted him to help our child have a normal life. Now we don't know if they'll even have part of a life," the father added._

_"I just want my older sibling back," said the patient's sister. "I liked who they were before the medications. Sure, they told me wild stories, but that’s who they were. They weren’t a robot, and they are now.”_

_As of this past Wednesday, Jones' license has been suspended for six months, after which time he will be reexamined and it will be determined if he can still work in his field._

_The patient is currently in critical condition at an undisclosed location. It is not clear yet whether or not they will survive._

Enjolras put the article down with shaky hands and a heavy heart. He knew that the article would be dark, and sad, but he couldn't believe that Dr. Jones was able to keep his license after making a mistake like that. Frying some poor kid's brain? Wasn't there some sort of laws against performing that procedure on a minor, at least without their consent?

Besides the doctor's misjudgment, what type of parent would let their son or daughter's brain get zapped like that? If Enjolras had a child, he would love them as they were, and help them live in the world the way that they came. He may not have gotten along with his parents, but they had always been adamantly against anything that altered the state of his brain when his doctor before Dr. Valjean, Dr. Edmund Thomas, suggested that it would take more than pills to keep his anxiety at bay.

Enjolras had never really been proud to call his parents his, but it looked like there was a first time for everything. For once, his parents had done something right.

 

 

14

 

When Enjolras woke up the next morning, he had forgotten all about the article that he read. Now, he had a different problem. He had somehow gotten sick.

His mind was fuzzy, his vision was blurry, his stomach hurt, and he had this damn taste in his mouth that wouldn't go away no matter how many times he swallowed. He heard the orderlies' morning knockings, but no matter how many times he tried,  he just didn't have it in him to sit up. Hell, he could barely even keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds!

He heard Grantaire sitting up across the room. A few seconds later, he felt a damp hand rest against his forehead, followed by a shocked, "Shit, Enjolras, you're burning up. Are you feeling okay?"

Before Enjolras could answer, his stomach lurched, and he rolled his head off of the bed to vomit onto the floor. Grantaire, ever the quick thinker, jumped away and grabbed the trashcan. He placed the can under Enjolras's face and pulled his thick blond curls into a loose ponytail so that it wouldn't get soiled. "I'll go get one of the orderlies to help me get you to the medical wing."

Enjolras made a strangled noise in response before vomiting again. His eyes began to stream, and his throat felt as though it had been lit ablaze with every heave. The smell, too, was beginning to overwhelm Enjolras, and only succeeded in making his protesting stomach yell even louder in fury. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe in between spells, desperately hoping that if he calmed himself down, the agony would stop.

Unfortunately, it only seemed to get worse, and by the time Grantaire had returned with Colin in tow, Enjolras had grown so dizzy that he had blacked out.

 

***.

 

Several hours later, Enjolras woke up in a room made of white. His stomach was still rolling, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been that morning. A quick lool at his hand alerted him that his lack of nausea was most likly attributed to the thick I.V. that was sticking out of the inner side of his elbow. He could see that he was hooked up to a bag of fluids, but the small brown bottle that was sitting on a table near the end of his bed looked medicinal.

Enjolras gave his eyes a minute to adjust before he glanced around the room. He thought he was alone, but a closer look at the end of the row of the beds proved him wrong. Eponine was lying with her legs propped up. She was throwing a pen up in the air and catching it, humming some song under her breath.

Enjolras checked to see if his IV stand had wheels before slowly turning to put his feet on the ground and standing up. He walked across the room on shaky legs, dragging the large metal pole behind him. He collapsed on the bed next to her, giving her a tight smile. "Hey."

Eponine looked over. "Hey. I thought that was you lying over there. I heard Colin telling the nurse that you puked a bunch then passed out"

Enjolras's face burned. He hadn't thought anything of it when he had woken up, but now he was deeply regretting that Grantaire had to see him like that. Even growing up, he had hated when people saw him when he was sick. His parents had for so long impressed upon him that the world should always see him in a positive light, and the weakness and filth that came along with being sick was most definitely not a positive light. "Heh, yeah . . . "

Eponine sensed Enjolras's discomfort, and she reached over to pat Enjolras's leg. "Hey, at least you're only here because you're sick. I screwed up again, and got myself placed on watch so Dr. Valjean can make sure that I am eating."

"Oh yeah, weren't you released?"

Eponine pulled her hand back, and she made a face and pursed her lips as she turned her gaze back down to her bed. "Yeah, I was."

Enjolras didn't say anything for a moment, following Eponine's lead and looking down at the bed. Eventually, though, trying to figure out what the pale green and blue stains in the sheets were was making him feel too much like Joly, so he _had_ to look back at Eponine, and the longer he looked, the more obvious it was that she had slipped back into her old ways. While her cheekbones had been prominent when they had met, Eponine's skin was so thin and dry that he could make out the exact shape of her skull. The hospital gown was hanging off of her, even with the strings pulled to their very tightest, and her wrists, crossed over one another on her lap, looked like they belonged to a child.

Enjolras wanted to ask what had happened, but he had been on his medicine long enough to understand why that would no longer be a proper thing to ask. The old him, though, would have asked without a second thought, and without much care, either. Now, though, he felt genuine worry for the girl, and not just because she was Grantaire's cousin.

"So . . . Are you okay?" He finally asked, looking at Eponine through his lashes.

Eponine shrugged. "I guess. I thought I was doing better, but once I got out there and started seeing my old friends . . . I just snapped. I saw my mom once or twice, too, and my brother and I lost our apartment . . . I dont know, I guess a lot of shit just went down at once, and I responded the only way I knew how. I fainted one night, and my brother took me to the hospital, and I guess I ended up here." She gave Enjolras a tight smile. "Guess this where I am just meant to be."

Before Enjolras had a chance to say anything else, the nurse stormed out of her office and over to Eponine and Enjolras, her eyes hard and her hands curled into fists. She was about twenty-five years old, and was very pretty with bright blue eyes and wavy brown hair, but the fury in her eyes made her look years older and far, far less attractive. "Mr. Macray! Get back to your bed at once! You need to rest, and Miss Thernardier has enough on her plate without you bothering her."

"He isn't bothering me!" Eponine chimed in, winking at Enjolras before looking back at the nurse and smirking. The nurse rolled her eyes.

"While that might be the case, it is my duty as a medical professional to keep you two apart.”She turned back to Enjolras. "Mr. Macray. Bed. Now."

Enjolras sighed, but did as he was asked. He made a face at Eponine and gave her a slight wave before grasping the IV pole and wheeling it back over to his bed. The nurse followed him, muttering about stubborn patients and how she really needed to go back to school to do _anything_ besides nursing. She made sure that Enjolras was back in bed before taking a syringe out of her pocket. She took the cap off and stuck the needle in Enjolras's IV. "This should put you back to sleep so the virus has time to run its course. With plenty of fluids, you should feel much better by the time you wake up."

"Okay. Sorry, ma'am."

"Don't get out of this bed again, you hear me? Dr. Valjean has on your chart that the dosage of your medicine increases tomorrow, and you'll want to feel your best when the side effects kick in."

"Oh, joy." Enjolras watched the nurse roll her eyes as the medicine began to kick in. His eyelids began to feel heavy, and his breathing was becoming more and more shallow with every exhalation. His limbs were starting to feel heavy, and there were tingles in his fingers and his toes.

Before long, Enjolras was fast asleep.

 

***

 

When Enjolras awoke for the second time, he noticed two things: one, the nurse was right, he felt a lot better, and two, Courfeyrac was in the bed next to him, chatting with Eponine across the room through a mouthful of gauze. They were discussing something funny that Grantaire had done while Enjolras was out, with Courfeyrac making faces and Eponine adding in sound effects when she felt it necessary.

Enjolras watched them for several seconds before deciding to alert them to his presence. He cleared his throat several times, getting louder and louder each time until Courfeyrac finally turned around and looked over. He spit the bloody wad of gauze into his hand befoee giving Enjolras a gap-toothed smile. "Hey, Enjolras," he said, giving him a mock solute. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, thanks." Enjolras nodded at the blood stains lining the front of Courfeyrac's shirt. "What happened there?"

Eponine snorted, calling out, "Our love struck fool fell for Combferre again . . . Literally."

Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out at her before making a face at Enjolras. "Grantaire and I were making jokes about the weird shit that you say while you're sleeping, and I thought I heard Combferre. He was walking from Dr. Valjean's office, and had a hand on his ribs and was wheezing really bad. I was so shocked to see him that I immediately took off towards him . . . And crashed in to that metal divider in between the doors from the common room to the hallway where all the offices are." He flashed Enjolras another smile, although this one was marred by the blood that had begun to seep out from Courfeyrac's upper set of gums. "Knocked three of my teeth out. Combferre was so pissed, he'd come up to talk to Valjean about ending his rest early, as well as to give me some of his . . . You know," he gestured towards his cheek, making a circle with his fingers the size of his pills, "and ended up dragging me here. He was hoping to take me somewhere, but he was thinking somewhere private, not the infirmary."

Enjolras looked around the room. He would have thought that after a few days apart, Combferre would soak up every minute of Courfeyrac's time he could get. "Speaking of Combferre, where is he?"

Courfeyrac's face fell. "That stupid nurse kicked him out, told him he'd never heal properly if he didn't get some rest. He suggested resting here, but I think she picked up that we're a thing, 'cause she thought he'd distract me too much to get my teeth back in.”

Enjolras strained his neck to look up at Courfeyrac’s teeth. It didn’t look like the nurse had fixed his teeth, but maybe he was wrong.

Courfeyrac gave Enjolras another grin, tilting his neck back and baring his gums to Enjolras to reveal that the nurse had not, in fact, repaired his mouth. Courfeyrac left his mouth open for a minute before he dropped his chin back down. He leaned over and spat into the trashcan, making a face at some of the blood hit the back of his hand. He wiped it off on the sheet before turning back to Enjolras. “Nurse Frederickson called in an emergency dentist to come patch me up. She tried, but she couldn’t get my teeth to stay in place.” He shrugged. “If she hadn’t kicked Combferre out, I wouldn’t care much, but . . . “ He trailed off, shrugging.

Eponine made a face, letting out an off noise to get Courfeyrac’s attention back to her. “What, are Enjolras and I not good enough company for you?” She raised an eyebrow, taking the pillow from behind her and chucking it towards Courfeyrac’s head. Courfeyrac caught it and threw it back. He reached over to the table next to his bed and grabbed another roll of gauze. He dabbed away one of the crimson bubbles before sticking his tongue out at Eponine.

“Hey, you two are definitely enough for someone,” he gave Enjolras a pointed look, “but for me, I want to spend time with Combferre.”

Eponine shook her head. “Man, I don’t know how you haven’t gotten Combferre fired. I realize that it hasn’t been that long that you guys have been officially, but damn, with how much you were always flirting with him and grabbing his ass whenever he was around.”

Courfeyrac blushed. “Well, I’m pretty sure Dr. Valjean knows. He made a comment to Combferre about ‘keeping it where he couldn’t see it and wouldn’t have to report it’ right after Enjolras got here, and he was the one was told Combferre that he would try to get the board to change their mind about how long I stay here so I could, and I quote, ‘be allowed to choose a relationship without having to worry about the effect it will have on anyone else’s job’.”

Eponine snorted. “Yeah, I’d definitely say that he knows.” She looked past Courfeyrac to Enjolras. “Do you think that Dr. Valjean knows about Grantaire and you?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I have no idea. He hasn’t said anything to me, and I don’t think that he’s said anything to Grantaire, either. I don’t know for sure, though.” He leaned his head back against his pillows and thought about his last few sessions with Dr. Valjean, as well as the things that him and Grantaire talked about. Grantaire knew nearly everything about what Enjolras and the doctor talked about, but he couldn’t say with any certainty that he could recall any conversation from Grantaire’s end, other than to talk about how the medicine was affecting him. Grantaire never talked about what his childhood was like, or how his relationship with his family was like. He didn’t talk about what he planned to do once he left the Attley, and he didn’t talk about what his dreams were, other than to continue doing things with his art.

The more that Enjolras thought about it, the more he realized that maybe, he didn’t know Grantaire as well as he thought. Sure, they connected over their mental illnesses, and they had their situation in common. What else was there, though? Did they even really have a relationship, or was theirs just one of convenience, since they were both locked in this place, with limited means for romantic partners? For Courfeyrac and Combferre, it _had_ to be real, at least on Combferre’s end. Combferre had plenty of men and women out in the real world that he could have a relationship with, but for Courfeyrac, it was the same as Enjolras and Grantaire. He had a limited amount of men to chose from, especially ones that already knew that he was gay.

Was trying to make a relationship in this place really worth it? Even more, was trying to make a relationship work with who he _was_ worth it?

Enjolras hadn’t realized that he had begun to hyperventilate until Courfeyrac jumped off his bed and ran over to Enjolras, rubbing him on the back and shushing him. He moved a hand up to Enjolras’s hairline, twirling the strands of hair and massaging his scalp. “Shh, Enjolras, calm down, everything is fine,” he soothed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and squeezing tight. “Breathe. In, out. In, out. Come on, Enjolras, follow along with me. In, out. In, out.”

Enjolras did as he was told, and timed his breathing along with what Courfeyrac was saying. Just like with Grantaire, Enjolras was able to calm down within a few minutes. He pulled away from Courfeyrac and wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth as he tried to get his mind to focus back on where he was at that very moment, and on the things around him.

He focused on the naturally-woody smell of Courfeyrac, and on the way that the IV fluids felt going into his veins. He focused on the whirring sound of the air conditioner, and the way that Eponine stared at him with a worried look on his face. He focused on the way that the nurse threw open her office door, and on the irritated expression she had on her face as she stormed over to the bed.

“Mr. McCartney, get back into your bed immediately. You need to move as little as possible so that the bleeding in your mouth slows down.”

Courfeyrac sent her a glare. “Enjolras had a panic attack, and he needed me to calm him down. Where were you a few minutes ago, when he stopped breathing?” He narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip around Enjolras’s shoulder.

The nurse guilty stuck her hand in her pocket, shoving down one of her earphones that had begun to sneak out. She shook her head and looked at Enjolras apologetically. “Mr. Macray, how are you feeling?”

Enjolras shrugged, not really feeling like answering her vocally. She gave him another tight grin before going over to the medicine cabinet and pulling out a small blue bottle. She grabbed a new syringe and stuck it into the bottle, drawing out a pale yellow liquid. She filled the syringe up halfway before inserting the needle into Enjolras’s IV. “Here, this will calm you down, and hopefully it will let you go back to sleep.”

“Thanks.”

The nurse nodded and looked at Courfeyrac. She started to say something to him, but changed her mind, and shook her head before going back into her office.

Courfeyrac watched her go before turning back to Enjolras. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah.” Enjolras leaned his head against Courfeyrac’s shoulder, and took a deep breath. The medicine that Nurse Frederickson gave him was kicking in rather quickly, and he could feel himself slipping into darkness after less than five minutes.

Enjolras was asleep before he even knew that he had shut his eyes.

 

15

 

It took several hours for Enjolras to come back to the real world, but when he did, he desperately wished that he was still asleep. There were creatures all around the room, from lying on the beds all around him, to hanging from the ceiling and swinging back and forth from fluorescent light to fluorescent light. He tried to make out their faces, but he wasn’t able to; all he could see was long, dagger-like teeth, and dark purple fur covering their bodies.

Enjolras looked around for Eponine and Courfeyrac, but he was unable to see them. Courfeyrac’s bed was empty, but across the room, where Enjolras had been when Eponine and he were talking, was a young blonde girl with bloodshot eyes and strangulation marks around her neck. She looked a lot like the girl from Enjolras’s dream, but when he strained his eyes to look closer, this young woman was _definitely_ not a girl. She had to be at least seventeen, if not in her early twenties. It was a bit difficult for Enjolras to tell her exact age from his distance across the room.

“Miss?” he called out, sitting up in his bed. He moved his IV pole to the side so that he could see the girl better. However, it seemed only to blur his vision of her further, for when she lifted her head and turned to the side to look at Enjolras, her eyes expanded so that they looked like two blood-soaked holes in her face. She opened her mouth, and tried to make a noise, but all that came out was a strangled noise.

Enjolras tried again. “Miss? Are you all right?”

The woman put her head back down on the pillow before turning her body and standing up, walking over towards Enjolras. The closer that she got, the more worried Enjolras felt. The woman was clearly in pain, and she gave Enjolras a pleading look that grew more and more scared with every step that she took. Her breathing was growing shallow, and the blood-shot look of her eyes grew darker and darker as the capillaries in her corneas burst. There were obvious bruises around her neck, as well as around her wrists and across the bridge of her nose. She sat down on the end of Enjolras’s bed, moving a hand up to clutch at her neck fearfully. “Please help me,” she croaked, letting out a pathetic, breathy cough.

Enjolras reached out and put a hand on her leg. Her skin was clammy and cold, and a quick glance down at her bare skin revealed that the skin was pale and marbled with spots of blue and purple. Her arms and legs were spotted with bruises of all sorts of sizes, from smaller than a penny, to the size of a golf ball. She wrapped her hand around Enjolras’s wrist, her nails digging in to his vein as her breathing sped back up. “Help me, please, I can’t breathe,” she said, the panic in her voice obvious.

Enjolras nodded hurriedly and pulled back from the woman’s grip, grabbing ahold of his IV pole and standing up. He headed towards Eponine’s empty bed before changing direction and going towards the nurse’s office. Before he could knock on her door, though, he heard someone calling his name from somewhere behind him. At first, he thought it was one of the hanging creatures, but a closer listen made him realize that it was Dr. Valjean.

He turned towards the woman, giving her an encouraging smile. “Everything will be okay, miss, he’s going to help you,” he said, holding his hand out as she began to worriedly grab at her neck again. She nodded and lowered her hands, beginning to hyperventilate as she waited.

Enjolras hurried over to Dr. Valjean, wincing when the IV pole got caught on a crack in the floor and pulled at the skin on the inside of his arm. “Please, Dr. Valjean, you have to help her. She can’t breathe, and she looks like someone beat her up. You need to get up to her floor and make sure that all the other girls are all right.”

Dr. Valjean gave Enjolras a concerned look, staring at him through his lashes. “Enjolras, there’s no one in here besides you. Courfeyrac was released a few hours ago after the dentist fixed his teeth, and Eponine is in her support-group right now.” He put a hand on Enjolras’s wrist. “Son, did the nurse give you anything while you were in here, other than the nausea medication?”

Enjolras thought for a moment before nodding. “Yes, sir.”

“Can you recall what it was?”

“I . . . think it was a blue bottle, that she got from that cabinet over there.” He pointed at the medicine cabinet across the room. Dr. Valjean nodded and walked over to the cabinet. He pulled it open and searched through the jars before finally pulling out an indigo-blue bottle.

“Was this is?”

Enjolras stared at it. “I think so. She gave it to me to calm down after I have a panic attack.”

Dr. Valjean nodded again. He stared at the back of the bottle before putting it back. Enjolras looked back over at the girl. She seemed to have calmed down a little bit, but she still looked extremely out of sorts. Enjolras didn’t understand why Dr. Valjean couldn’t see her. He decided to try again. “Sir, that woman . . . ”

Dr. Valjean walked back over and put a hand on Enjolras’s back. “Son, she isn’t real. She’s just part of a reaction from the medicine that the nurse gave you.” He pulled his hand back. “I’m going to go and have Eloise remove the IV from your arm, and then I would like for you to come down to my office with me so we can talk.”

A few minutes later, Enjolras was following Dr. Valjean down to his office. The woman was still hovering around him, staying only a few steps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, watching her step behind doors and around orderlies as she tried to keep up, her breathing still coming out in pants.

Once they got down to the office, Enjolras made sure to close the door behind him as quickly as he possible could so that the woman could not enter. Fortunately, it seemed as though luck was on his side, as he slammed the door right as her foot had begun to cross the threshold. She froze in shock, giving Enjolras a glare before crossing her arms and leaning back on her heel to wait.

Enjolras gave her a nervous look before turning back around to face Dr. Valjean. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the woman watched him, her bloody eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.

Dr. Valjean cleared his throat and snapped his fingers in front of Enjolras, trying to get his attention focused back on him. “Mr. Macray. Come back. It’s just me and you in here."

Enjolras shook his head, looking back at the girl. Her eyes had grown wide and child-like, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She began to rock back and forth as tears welled up, and she pressed a hand flat against the glass as she began to cry. Enjolras gave her a small smile before turning back to Dr. Valjean. "Doctor, please. She needs your help."

Dr. Valjean sighed and shook his head. "Enjolras, I promise you she isn't real. She's just a side-effect, nothing more. She will go away once the medicine wears off all the way, and then you will forget all about her."

"No, sir. She isn't from the medicine. I've seen her before, in my dreams." He shook his head. "Her name . . . It's never familiar to me, but she has the same name every time, although she's normally younger."

"Enjolras, you're imagining things. You must of dreamt of this woman while you slept, and your mind kept her there when you woke up."

"No! You aren't listening to me. She has always been a little girl in my dreams. If I dreamed her as a kid, then why would Claire show up as an adult out of my head?"

Dr. Valjean began to say something else, but he froze when he heard the name. "What did you say her name was?"

Enjolras took a deep breath, and glanced over at the girl. Her eyes widened again, and she pressed both hands against the glass as he spoke. "Claire. Claire Joyce Macray." He shrugged. "I thought it was funny, that we have the same last name."

The moment her name was spoken, Claire turned back into the same scared child that Enjolras had been dreaming about. She stuck her thumb in her mouth, her left hand moving to grip a raggedy stuffed bunny by the ears. He gave her another smile before turning back around.

Dr. Valjean watched Enjolras intently. "Son, what Claire look like?"

Enjolras looked at her again. "In my dreams, she can't be any older than five or six, but today, she was in her late teens. She has blonde hair, and eyes like mine, and is really pale. She has bruises all over her body, and her corneas are all red and bloodshot. She's kind of scary-looking, to be honest, but like . . . Scary in a way that makes me want to protect her, you know?"

Dr. Valjean nodded. He stared at Enjolras for a solid two minutes before turning to his computer. He typed for a few moments before pausing. He clicked something with his mouse before turning the screen towards Enjolras. "Does she look like this?"

Enjolras examined at the picture. "That's her!" he announced, reaching out to run his fingers over the screen. The girl in the picture was much cleaner, and had bright skin that looked like it had never been touched before. She had a huge smile on her face, and in her arms, the bunny that she was holding. The more he stared, though, the more he realized it was the same bunny he held during the dream trial.

He started to picture the dream again, but was brought back down to earth when he realized Dr. Valjean had called someone on his phone, a worried look on his face.

"Emmett, you need to come in. Mr. Macray's memories have begun to return." 

16

 

Enjolras stared at Dr. Valjean in confusion. What did he mean, his “memories had begun to come back?” Enjolras hadn’t lost his memory, and there wasn’t any point of his life where he felt like he was missing something, or like there was a gap.

He remembered being five years old, and being so excited every time his birthday or Christmas came around. He remembered how proud he felt the first time that he came up for a plan for justice when he was eleven years old. He remembered the disappointment that he felt  when his parents barely even noticed his achievement, far too engrossed in their own lives to have the slightest care in what their only child had been doing. He remembered desperately wanting a brother or a sister, and being so jealous of his friends that came from big families. He remembered asking his parents why they hadn’t had another baby, and asking how long it would take for them to give in.

Dr. Valjean would not give Enjolras a straight answer, even after the boy asked. He shook his head, turning to his computer and opening a file. He began to type furiously, his eyes darting back and forth between Enjolras and the computer screen. After a few minutes, he paused, and waved a hand in Enjolras’s direction. “Go to the dining hall and get your supper, son,” he said, moving his hand to his mouth and biting on his thumbnail. “The medicine will wear off quicker once you eat, but I need you to do something for me, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s going to be hard, but I need you to try and avoid looking at Claire as much as you possibly can until she goes away. Trust me, Enjolras. It’s the best thing for you, and the best thing for all of the people around you.”

Enjolras bit his lip before nodding slowly. He would try, but it definitely was not going to be easy. Claire had somehow found a way into Dr. Valjean’s office, and was sitting on the padded bench next to the window. She was humming a cheery song and playing with her bunny. She kept pausing her humming to say Enjolras’s name, and to call for him to look at her. When he didn’t, she began to pout, and called out louder. She began to throw a fit, crossing her arms over her chest and beginning to cry.

Enjolras closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to do as Dr. Valjean said. He wanted to maintain his mental health, and if that meant he had to ignore the child, then he guessed that was what he was going to do. He counted to ten before opening his eyes and staring forward. He stood and walked out of Dr. Valjean’s office, keeping his eyes trained on a fictional point in front of him. Claire walked around him in circles, sticking her tongue out at him and making faces, trying as hard as she could to make the older man laugh. When that didn’t work, she tried a different approach, and began to yell at the top of her lungs.

Enjolras ignored her, and entered the dining hall, going straight to Courfeyrac and Grantaire’s table. He slumped down in the seat next to Grantaire, turning his chair and lacing their fingers together before Grantaire even noticed that he was there. He let go when one of the orderlies brought him his food, but the moment she was gone, Enjolras linked their hands once again.

Grantaire gave Enjolras a worried look as he began to force down his gray-brown meatloaf and mashed potatoes, his eyes staring blankly down at the table to avoid looking at Claire. "Enjolras? Are you all right?"

Enjolras nodded, swallowing down a lump of the clay-like meat. Grantaire squeezed his hand and reached over to touch his cheek. Enjolras briefly glanced up, but when he saw that Claire had begun making faces over Grantaire's shoulder, he looked back down, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing deeply through his nose.

Fortunately, it seemed that Dr. Valjean had been right about how eating would help make the hallucination go away. By the time he was halfway done with his food, he was able to join in to Grantaire and Courfeyrac's conversation without pause, although Grantaire kept giving Enjolras looks of concern and rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb.

Courfeyrac tried to ease the mood by making faces, and showing off all of the things that he could stick between the gap that the dentist had left in between his front two teeth. It didn't do much for Enjolras, but it did enough to make him smile.

Courfeyrac smiled as he talked about the dentist. "Trust me, guys, this guy was hot as fuck. He had bright green eyes, and this wavy blond hair, and perfectly straight, white tee--"

He cut off as someone delivered a whack to the back of his head. Enjolras looked up to see an irate Combferre standing behind Courfeyrac, his arms crossed and his eyes hard. "Come on, Courfeyrac," he said, turning towards the door, "it's time for me to walk you to your meeting."

Combferre was already halfway across the dining hall when Courfeyrac managed to stand up, giving Enjolras and Grantaire a look that said he knew he was in trouble.

Enjolras thought back to his musings back in the infirmary, about how it was possible that Courfeyrac and Combferre's relationship was one-sided. Hearing Courfeyrac talk about the dentist like that made him think that he might be right, and it gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He stared at Courfeyrac's back until the doors closed. He turned to Grantaire, the anxious feeling growing stronger. "Do you think Courf's feelings for Combferre are real? Or are they of convenience, since Combferre is here?"

Grantaire snorted. "Dude, they knew each other before Courfeyrac came here. Didn't I tell you that? I mean, Combferre was straight at the time, so they weren't like they are now, but Courf definitely has real feelings. Why do you ask?"

When Enjolras didn't answer, Grantaire got a nervous look on his face. "Wait, this isn't about us, is it? Do you think we are just . . . "He looked around for the orderlies before turning back to Enjolras. "Look, let's go to our room to talk about this, all right?"

Enjolras took one bite of his potatoes before nodding. He followed Grantaire towards the orderlies by the door, who took their plates before writing on a sheet of paper when they left, something they had started doing because of Courfeyrac's fight with Montparnasse.

Once they were back in the room, Grantaire sat down next to Enjolras on his bed. "Okay, so tell me exactly what you are thinking, and why you asked me that. No lies."

Enjolras nodded and took a deep breath, having trouble formulating a response. Grantaire could tell, and placed a hand on his thigh encouragingly. "I don't know . . . I guess I was thinking about how I feel like there is so much that I don't know about you, and I feel like I should. It made me think about, you know, those stories that people tell about their 'prison boyfriend’ or 'summer camp fling.’ Like I said, a relationship of convenience."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think made me fall in love with you, that it's 'convenient'? Enjolras, that's not it at all. I love you because you are so headstrong, and because you are trying so hard to become a better person while you're here. You may have trouble relating to people and you still can't really empathize worth shit, but at least you're trying."

He scooted closer to Enjolras, taking his hand in his and leaning forward to give him a quick kiss. "I've never felt this before with anyone, Enjolras, and it isn't just because you're here. If that was the case, I'm sure Courfeyrac and I would have fucked months ago." He turned and nudged him playfully with his shoulder, pushing him down on to the bed before laughing and pulling him back up.

Enjolras let out a small smile. "Okay."

"So, are you okay now? Or is there something else going on? You had me really worried this morning when you passed out like that, I had no idea what was going on."

"The nurse said it was a virus plus the side effects of my medicine. We . . . do need to talk about something that Dr. Valjean said to me today, though, that is confusing me."

"What'd he say? He's normally pretty straightforward."

"Yeah, I know." He removed his hand from Grantaire's and clenched the sheet in his hand, tightening and loosening his grip nervously. He knew that he would sound crazy when he said it, and he hoped that Grantaire wouldn't think any differently of him after he found out about Claire. "So . . . For a few weeks now, I have occasionally been getting these dreams, where I am in a trial or in a locked room or somewhere like that, and it's me, other people with my face, and a little girl. Well, today, I . . . Well, I hallucinated her for a few hours around the medical ward, Dr. Valjean's office, and the dining hall. She started out as an abused-looking teenager, but by the time she went away, she was five or six, like in my dreams."

Grantaire's brows furrowed. "Did Dr. Valjean say why you started hallucinating? That's not normal for you, is it?"

Enjolras shook his head. "No, it's not. He said it was a side-effect from the medicine that the nurse gave me. That's not the strangest part, though." Enjolras thought back to Dr. Valjean's office, and the picture of Enjolras's dream girl that he brought up on his computer. "I told Dr. Valjean what the girl's name is, at least in my dream, and he had a picture of her on his computer, albeit a lot less bruised up and sickly-looking."

Grantaire's eyes widened. "Fuck. That's a creepy coincidence. What her name?"

"Claire Joyce Macray. Same last name as me, spelled the same and all."

"Claire Joyce Macray . . . Why does that name seem familiar to me?" He got off Enjolras's bed and walked over to his own. He lifted up the mattress and pulled out a tattered blue folder. He held it up, shaking it near his face. "These are all the articles Combferre has smuggled in for me."

He sat back down next to Enjolras, and began skimming over the articles. "Claire Joyce . . . Macray . . . Claire Joyce Macray . . . Aha! I found it!" He pulled an article out from the middle of the stack and read it out loud.

"'On Monday, May 5, six-year-old Claire Joyce Macray and her brother, nine-year-old Michael Arthur Macray, were found unresponsive in their home, where she they been left alone with their nanny. C. Macray was found with strangulation marks around her neck, and severe bruising to her face. M. Macray had bruises on his wrists and legs, and showed signs of sexual abuse.

“At this time, there is no other information. If you know anything about the whereabouts of Dacoda Marks, please call . . . '"Grantaire trailed off, leaving out the number. He skimmed the article before putting it down on the bed. "Wow. I hope they caught that guy."

"What made you think it's a guy? Dacoda's a girl's name."

Grantaire turned the article around, pointing to an image at the bottom of the page. "Because there is a picture of him, see?"

When Enjolras saw the picture, his eyes widened. "Dacoda . . . Oh, fuck."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at Enjolras's language. "Yes?"

"Dacoda . . . Cody. As in . . . " he gestured between his legs before blushing.

Grantaire looked confused for a moment, but once he got it, his eyes widened. "Oh, fuck! So, do you think that means that he did this to multiple kids? Or . . ."

Enjolras swallowed thickly. "I think I am Michael Arthur Macray . . . which means that Claire is my sister.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras in shock. “Enjolras, do you really think that’s possible? You would’ve known if you were going by the wrong name all your life, and you _definitely_ would have known if you had a sister, especially if you and she were close in age.”

Enjolras thought about what Grantaire was saying. It was true, having a sister _was_ something that would be pretty damn high on his major-memories list, especially with how badly he had always wanted a brother or a sister. For as long as he could remember, he was the only child that his parents had. His was the only picture hung on the walls, the only one in family portraits, and the only one listed on his parent’s will (he knew; he had checked after he was in jail the first time). He also had seen his birth certificate, and it definitely said the wrong name.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Grantaire. I just saw the thing with Cody, plus Dr. Valjean said something about my memories coming back, whatever that means . . . and I guess I just panicked.”

“Don’t worry, Enjolras, it’s okay.” He nudged him with his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s sneak past the orderlies and steal some cake from the kitchen. I have on good authority that Michelle made her famous devil’s food cake for the crew to have for dessert.”

Enjolras forced a smile. “Sounds like a plan.” He leaned over and gave Grantaire a quick kiss and squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Grantaire, for dealing with me and all the baggage that comes along with dating me. I really do love you.”

“I love you, too. Now come on, I want some of that cake!”

 

17

 

Grantaire pulled Enjolras off the bed and opened the door, walking out of the room with a skip in his step. Enjolras followed behind, albeit a bit slower. He was glad he had Grantaire to help him deal with whatever was going on, but he really wished that there was just someone who would give him all the answers. He didn't know who that Emmett guy was that Dr. Valjean called, but hopefully, he was the man for the job.

Before long, though, Enjolras was feeling much more relaxed, and enjoying himself again as he sat with Grantaire and Michelle, the head cook and another of Grantaire's friends, at a small, chipped card table in Michelle's "office," stuffing his face with a large slice of cake, and listening to Grantaire tell a story.

"So, I was like ten, and Mary Kate was twelve or thirteen," he began, cutting himself another slice before stealing a fingerful of icing off Enjolras's piece. "It was our mom's birthday, and we decided to try to make her a cake from scratch. Mary Kate tried the icing, and I did the cake. I forgot to crack the eggs, and mixed up baking powder and baking soda, and Mary Kate added three times as much powdered sugar as she needed. Mom pretended to like it, but she only made it through half of a slice before the taste got to her, and she had to spit it back out." He chuckled. "Mom showed us where the recipe book was that same day."

Michelle snorted. "What, so did you just make it up as you went along?"

"Yep." Grantaire shrugged. "We'd seen Mom make cakes and shit before, plus we helped with some, so we figured that we were experts at it. I actually loved making cakes with Mom. It was the one time that we had that was really an us thing, since she was always so busy with the twins."

Enjolras looked over in confusion. "The twins?"

"Yeah, my younger siblings, Noah and Naomi. We've talked about them before, Enjolras. They're the ones who stole Eponine's makeup and did-up the dog, remember?"

"I thought they were your cousins."Honestly, Enjolras had only been half paying attention to what Grantaire had been saying when he told that story. He was too focused on how long it took to distract Grantaire from telling his story to him and Courfeyrac, one night when they had snuck back on to the roof. He knew that Eponine and Grantaire were cousins, though, so he just assumed the rest.

Grantaire shook his head. "No, they're definitely my brother and my sister. They're eight years younger than me. I haven't talked to them in ages, though. When my drinking got bad, my mom banned me from speaking to them, because she didn't want them to turn out like me." He put his fork down, pushing his half-finished slice of cake away. He sighed. "I miss them a lot."

"Well, do you remember your parents' phone number?" Michelle asked, going over to the fridge to get three small cartons of milk from her minifridge. She handed one to each of the men before opening the final one for herself.

"Of course I do "

"Call them then." Michelle pulled her phone out of her pocket and slid it across the table before pushing a crimson strand of hair back into her braid.

Grantaire pushed the phone back. "I haven't talked to them in four years. Besides, Noah and Naomi are eighteen now. Who knows if they are even still living there or not."

Michelle gave him the phone again. "You'll never know until you try. And put it on speaker."

Grantaire sighed, but did as he was asked. He dialed the numbers, and soon, the sound of the dial tone echoed off the bare walls. Michelle leaned her head on her hand, her bright green eyes looking back and forth between the glowing screen and Grantaire impatiently.

When the sound of a woman's voice replaced the dial tone, Grantaire turned white, and he quickly darted his hand out to end the call. Michelle gave him a disapproving look before taking the phone and hitting the redial button. It rung three times before the woman picked back up.

"If this is a marketing call, I'm not interested in--"

"Mom?" Grantaire interrupted, his voice tight and his eyes wide. Enjolras reached out and laced their fingers together encouragingly. Grantaire gave him a thankful smile before looking back at the phone

The woman was quiet for several long, tense seconds before she whispered, "Grantaire? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Mom, it's me."

Grantaire's mother let out a sob. "Oh, Grantaire, I'm so sorry. Please come home, son. I don't care if you aren't on your meds, or if you are still drinking. I just want my son back."

"I will come home as soon as I can, Mom, I promise.  I am getting help with my drinking and my medicine. I'm making you proud of me, Mom."

"Oh, honey, I am proud of you. You and your brother are the highlight of my life. Noah is starting at Truman in the fall. He got a full, scholarship and is doing biology and pre-med. He was the valedictorian, and did Advanced Placement classes all throughout high school.

“That’s great, Mom. Is he home?”

“No, he’s out with his girlfriend, and her little boy. He’s the sweetest thing; just turned one last month.”

“What about Naomi? Can I talk to her?”

There was no answer. Grantaire took his hand back from Enjolras, lacing his fingers and leaning his elbows against his thighs and his chin on his hands. A worried look came across his eyes, and his brows furrowed.

Eventually, Grantaire’s mother spoke again. "Sweetheart, Naomi passed away a little under two years ago. I tried to get a hold of you when she got sick, but your old number was disconnected.”

"W-what h-happened? Did she . . . " he stopped, his eyes glossing over and his breath catching in his throat. Enjolras watched him for a moment before moving his chair over and wrapping his arm around Grantaire's shoulders and kissing him on the cheek. Michelle put a hand on Grantaire's knee and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Her body eventually rejected her new heart, honey. She was back on the transplant list, but they couldn't find a match in time." She went quiet for several minutes. "She asked about you all the time, you know, and I know that she resented me for kicking you out and keeping you apart.”

Grantaire swallowed thickly, and he closed his eyes. "I have to go," he whispered. He opened his eyes and took the phone out of Michelle's hand and hung up. He pushed Enjolras and Michelle off of him and stood up, leaving the room without a second glance.

Enjolras watched him walk away before turning to Michelle, giving the young woman a tight smile. "Thank you for the cake," he said, awkwardly pulling her into a side hug.

Michelle hugged him back. "You're welcome, sweetie."

Enjolras pulled away from the girl and left the room. He kept an eye out for orderlies (as it was nearly curfew), but made sure to walk quickly to the room in case Grantaire needed him.

Sure enough, Grantaire had chosen to lie down in Enjolras's bed, his arms and legs wrapped around Enjolras's pillow. He was sniffling, and his shoulders were shaking fiercely.

Enjolras shut the door quietly before walking over to Grantaire. He slid in behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing him on the back of his neck. Grantaire rolled and buried his face in the younger man’s neck, letting out a sob. “I should have been there,” he said, his tears soaking into Enjolras’s shirt. “Naomi and I were closer than even Mary Kate and me, even though we were further apart in age than me and her. Naomi liked to bake, just like me, so when I finally learned to do it right, and she was like six, we used to spend every Saturday afternoon making cakes and shit, just me and her.”

He gripped the back of Enjolras’s shirt, clenching so hard that his nails cut through the fabric and left deep, stinging slashes on Enjolras’s skin. “She was born with a hole in her heart, and when she was thirteen, she had a heart transplant four or five months before Mom kicked me out.” He hiccupped, loosening his grip and adjusting so that he was hugging Enjolras rather than clinging to him. “If my drinking hadn’t gotten out of control, I would have been there to help her out when she got sick again. I always thought that I would have plenty of time to reconnect with her when I got out of here, and that I would get to see the amazing woman that I always knew that she would become.”

Enjolras kissed Grantaire’s forehead. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell Grantaire that it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t there for her, and that he had no idea what was going to happen to his sister, but he didn’t feel like that was entirely true. Yes, Grantaire was at the Attley so that he could get better and be the person that he used to be, but it _was_ his fault that he refused to take his medication, and that he started drinking as much as he did.

He decided it was best not to say anything.

Grantaire didn’t seem to notice, as he was too far into his memories to realize anything other than his pain. “She was so smart, and so sweet. I remember one time, when I was fourteen or fifteen, my very first boyfriend broke up with me through one of our mutual friends. I was crushed, because he was the first person that I had told that I was gay, other than my mom. My dad left right after Noah and Naomi were born, but I told him at the same time as I told my mom. I just figured that he deserved to know, you know?”

He shook his head, getting distracted by his past. Eventually, he began to speak again. “I came home from school, and I felt horrible about myself and just wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. Naomi saw that I was upset, and got out her Crayola washable paints and painted me a picture on the inside of her favorite book. She painted me as a princess, and her as the prince. She said that I didn’t ever need a boyfriend, because she would be the best prince that I would ever get.”

He sniffed, and pulled his head back to wipe his nose with the back of his hand. He leaned over and grabbed a tissue out of the box on the floor. He wiped his hand and his face off before tossing the tissue back to the floor and hugging Enjolras again. “I just wish that things had been different.”

“I know you do.” Enjolras wiped away the last of Grantaire’s tears and kissed him on the forehead. He tightened his arms, and rolled over so that he was on his back and Grantaire was resting on his side, with his head on Enjolras’s chest. Grantaire closed his eyes and breathed in and out deeply, while Enjolras stared at the ceiling, trying to think of more to say. His mind drifted back to the article, and about how he would feel if Claire really was his sister, and she had passed away. Granted, if they _were_ siblings, because they hadn’t grown up together, he wouldn’t be able to mourn her as much as he would mourn what they could never have.

If he was Grantaire, though, he was sure that he would be heartbroken to learn of such a loss. He would hate himself for not being there to guide his sibling through his or her last breaths, and for not being able to tell him or her goodbye. It had to be heartbreaking.

He settled for giving Grantaire another kiss, holding him close as the man fell asleep, exhausted from what he had learned. His breath tickled Enjolras’s neck, and his dark brown curls mixed with Enjolras’s long hair.

Eventually, Enjolras fell asleep, too, and he left his place of relaxation back to his land of nightmares.

 

18

 

Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into three months before Enjolras ever heard anything about Dr. Emmett Jones. He had been at the Attley for just over five months, and while he had become much more human, and felt things much more deeply. He wasn’t a single step closer to knowing anything more about Ms. Claire Joyce Macray, though, and he _still_ had no idea what Dr. Valjean meant when he talked about “memories.”

One thing _had_ changed, though. Every night, when Enjolras went to sleep, his dreams were vivid and filled with adventure. In some, he was alone. In others, he was with his fictional Claire, or Grantaire, or Courfeyrac, or all three of them.

There was one that he had, where it was only him, Claire, and Grantaire. Claire looked the same way that she did the evening that he had hallucinated her, albeit without all of the bruises and the injuries. Her long, wavy blonde hair had been in a thick plait, and she looked beautiful in a light pink blouse, jeans, and a floppy white hat. Grantaire looked dashing in a pair of beige trousers and a light-blue gingham button-down. Enjolras had been wearing a pair of starched jeans and a long-sleeved black sweater.

They were sitting on a red-and-white checked picnic blanket, and were eating finger sandwiches and fruit. Grantaire was sitting at the base of a tree, his back pressed against it. He had one leg stretch out in front of him, while the other was bent at the knee. Enjolras was lying between his legs, his head on Grantaire’s flat thigh and his golden hair spread out along the ground. Claire was sitting across from them, a smile on her face and a book in her lap. She was alternating between reading and looking up at the couple, teasing them for how disgustingly in love they were.

Enjolras wasn’t sure why, but when he woke up, it was the happiest that he felt in a long time.

In another, it had been just him and Claire, both as children. They were sitting next to a Christmas tree in a tiny living room, bouncing up and down on their knees in matching red reindeer pajamas as they waited for their parents to give them their presents. (well, Enjolras’s parents, really, but in his dream world, they were hers, too). They had large smiles on their faces as they tore through the presents, both of them getting everything that they had asked for that year.

The best present they received, though, came at the end of the session, when Leroy brought out a small green box with a shiny red bow on top. He told Claire to take one side of the box, while Enjolras took the other, and together, they lifted the lid to reveal a small, sleepy red-and-white spotted Brittany puppy wearing a green collar that they named McKenzie.

Not all of the dreams were pleasant, though. The article about Claire and Michael’s abuse occasionally still crept to the forefront of his mind, and he would vividly remember the night that Cody had raped him. Dr. Valjean helped as best as he could with these nightmares, but he refused to answer any questions that Enjolras had about them. That, he said, was for Dr. Jones to answer, and until he decided to finally make an appearance, the questions would remain unanswered.

On the six month anniversary of Enjolras’s stay at the Attley, two weeks before Courfeyrac was due to be released, all that changed.

 

***

 

“Ugh, I can’t fucking wait to get the hell out of this place,” Courfeyrac moaned, throwing his arm over his head dramatically and pushing Combferre over on their place on the cement block on the room, draping his body across Combferre’s legs.

Grantaire chuckled, reaching over and stealing Enjolras’s cigarette out of his mouth. He took a drag and held the smoke for a moment before blowing out a smoke ring. He smirked at Combferre. “Do you hear that, Combferre? Your man is looking forward to leaving you all alone during your night rounds and during your day shifts. You’re not going to be able to sneak in anymore to have sex with him in the janitor’s closet on the third floor.”

Combferre shrugged, the smile never leaving his face. “No, but I’ll be able to come home to my apartment and make him scream _all_ night long.” He leaned down and kissed Courfeyrac, pulling his hair. Courfeyrac moaned and arched up.

Grantaire coughed. “Okay, boys, that’s enough. Remember, there are children here!” He put a hand over Enjolras’s eyes, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval at his friends.

Combferre sat up and rolled his eyes before looking back down at Courfeyrac. “Courf, you want to tell them?”

Enjolras pushed Grantaire’s hand away. “Tell us what?”

Courfeyrac looked up at Combferre and gave him a smile before turning his head towards Grantaire and Enjolras. “Combferre asked me to marry him once I get out of this place.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened, and he pushed Enjolras off him so that he could jump up and run over to his friends. “That’s awesome! Congratulations!”

Enjolras got up as well, and went over to pull the men into a hug. “Congrats, you guys. Make sure you wait until I get out to have the wedding, yeah?”

“Of course,” Combferre said, giving Enjolras side hug before clapping him on the shoulder. “You have to be one of our groomsmen, after all.”

Enjolras’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Courf and I have already talked about it, and we want both of you to be in the wedding, as long as that’s cool with you.”

Enjolras began to answer, but Grantaire jumped in for him. “Hell yes that’s cool with us! We’d love to be in your wedding.” He wrapped his arm around Enjolras’s shoulder and pulled him to the side of his body tightly. “Maybe someday we’ll repay the favor at a wedding of our own, eh, Enjolras?” He leaned over and placed a sloppy kiss on Enjolras’s cheek.

Enjolras’s cheeks began to burn. Before he had a chance to say anything, though, he was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind them. Combferre looked over, letting out a sigh and moving Courfeyrac off his lap.

Enjolras turned around to see Dr. Valjean standing in the open doorway, a cigarette of his own in his hand and an eyebrow raised. “I see that congratulations is in order, boys,” he said, dropping his cigarette and stomping it out before walking over to the group. Combferre had a worried look on his face, but it went away when Dr. Valjean waved his hand. “Calm down, Combferre, I don’t mind, especially since Mr. McCartney is _going_ to get out of here in two weeks, because he _will not fight anyone_ , right, Mr. McCartney?”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Dr. Valjean nodded. “Good.” He put a hand on the back of Combferre’s shoulder. “I will expect my invitation to also have a request for me to give a speech at the reception all about the things that Mr. McCartney has gotten you into during the course of his stay.”

Combferre blushed. “Okay.”

Dr. Valjean gave him another smile before turning to Enjolras. “Mr. Macray, I hate to cut your moonlit ramble short, but I need you to come with me to my office so that we can talk about some things.” He nodded at Combferre. “One more cigarette apiece, then I want you all going inside, is that understood? It’s a good thing that you are actually working tonight, or I would be worried about you getting your friends caught.”

He turned and began to walk away. Before he got to the door, though, he stopped and looked back. “Oh, and Mr. Halloway? Please slide the keys back under my door after you have returned Mr. McCartney and Mr. Abram to their rooms. I will be in there for at least another hour or two, if not more. And tomorrow, make sure the other orderlies know to let Mr. Macray get some rest. It will be a long  night for him, as well.”

Combferre nodded. Enjolras gave the other three a tight smile before following Dr. Valjean down to his office.

Dr. Valjean waited for Enjolras at the foot of the steps. “How have the nightmares been the last few days, son?” he asked, placing a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder.

Enjolras shrugged. “They’ve been fine, Doctor. I’ve only had one since our meeting on Monday. The rest of the dreams have been good ones.”

“Good, good.”

The rest of the walk was quiet. Before they reached Dr. Valjean’s office, though, he stopped, and turned Enjolras to face him. “Mr. Macray, what my companion and I are going to talk to you about tonight is not going to be an easy thing for you to hear. It will take most of the night, and things are going to be confusing for you. I am going to recommend that you spend a few days in the infirmary, so that you can get as much rest as you need. However, if you think that your time would be spent better with Mr. McCartney and Mr. Abram, I will allow them to stay up there with you until you feel fully ready to reenter the rest of the patients.”

Enjolras hadn’t been nervous at all when Dr. Valjean said that he needed to talk to him, but now, he was definitely feeling the butterflies. Other than the few times that Enjolras had attended the sexual-abuse support group, he had never felt nervous about anything that Dr. Valjean had suggested for his treatment. Needing several days of recuperation, though, was a much more nerve-wracking consequence than simple feeling uncomfortable talking about his feelings was.

Dr. Valjean squeezed Enjolras’s shoulder before walking the last few feet to his office. He twisted the knob and pushed open the door, holding his hand out for Enjolras to step into the room before him.

Sitting in Dr. Valjean’s chair was a man in a pair of dark-brown slacks and a dusty-blue button-down. He had a gray goatee, and was bald other than a ring of hair that ran from the top of one ear to the other. He was tapping his fingers impatiently together, and was darting his mousey eyes around the room from behind his expensive-looking black frames.

When the man saw Enjolras and Dr. Valjean, he stood up, his potbelly falling over the top of the desk. He walked around and stood in front of Enjolras. “Hello, Enjolras. My name is Dr. Emmett Jones. Do you remember me?”

Enjolras squinted his eyes as the man. He studied him for several minutes before shaking his head, looking down at the ground. He wasn’t sure why, but for some reason, standing in front of this man was making him feel incredibly uneasy.

Dr. Valjean shut and locked the door before ushering Enjolras over to the plush patient’s chair. He sat down in the chair next to him, leaving his office chair open for Dr. Jones to sit. He placed a hand on Enjolras’s knee, keeping him from bolting from the room. He looked over at Dr. Jones and watched him sit down before turning back to Enjolras. “Mr. Macray, we are going to show you a film that lasts a little less than an hour, and I want you to pay close attention to it, all right? It is not going to be easy, but I need you to watch all of it.”

Enjolras didn’t look up. He really wasn’t sure that he was comfortable with this, and he didn’t even know what exactly this “film” would contain. Dr. Valjean squeezed his knee. “Mr. Macray, I need you to look at me. Please.”

Enjolras sighed before doing as he was asked. Dr. Valjean smiled at him. “Thank you. Did you understand everything that I said?” Enjolras nodded. Dr. Valjean’s smile grew, although now, it seemed forced and fake. “Good. I’ll leave it to Dr. Jones, then.” He looked at Dr. Jones and nodded before standing up and moving his chair towards the door, effectively blocking Enjolras’s only exit. Dr. Jones clicked a few buttons on Dr. Valjean’s keyboard before turning the screen towards Enjolras and beginning the film.

The film began with a single camera, and a caption that ran across the bottom of the screen that said “M. Macray Session 117: August 9, 2001.” The camera was overlooking a child’s playroom. At first, Enjolras thought that the room was empty, but the longer that he stared at the grainy, pixilated image, he realized that something was in the corner of the room.

It was a young boy, crouched down and staring at the floor with his fingers interlaced against the back of his neck. He was rocking back and forth, and appeared to be terrified of something. He spent several minutes rocking. He didn’t say anything, and his face remained down.

For several minutes, that’s all that the film was. Eventually, though, a young Dr. Jones walked in and sat down at the boy’s play table. He pushed out a chair next to him. “Michael, come sit down with me, please,” he said, his voice echoing with the out-of-date recording technology. The boy continued to rock. Dr. Jones tried again. “Michael, I need you to come here.”

Michael stopped rocking, and he stood up to his full height. Enjolras was surprised to see that he was closer to nine or ten, as opposed to five or six, like he previously thought. He had white-blonde hair, and his skin looked as though it had never seen the sun. He was thin, and had a skeletal look to him.

Michael walked over to the table and sat down, continuing to stare at the floor. He wrapped his arms around his waist and rocked a few times before looking up at the ceiling, his eyes wide and terrified as he turned his head rapidly back and forth, staring at each corner of the room and getting more and more frightened with every glance.

Dr. Jones reached out and took the boy’s hand. “Michael, what do you see?”

Michael whimpered. “The booniebogs,” he said, his eyes moving faster and faster until it looked as though he was convulsing. “They are everywhere.” He raised his other hand, and pointed to the ceiling directly above Dr. Jones’s head. “Gulliberg doesn’t like when you are here. You make his booniebogs sad. You tell them that they aren’t real.”

Dr. Jones grabbed Michael’s hand, making sure that the boy couldn’t pull out of his grasp. “That’s because they aren’t real, Michael. They are just part of your imagination.”

Michael shook his head. “No. He hurt Claire, and he hurt me. He’ll hurt you, too, if you don’t stop lying to his booniebogs.”

“Is that why you told Claire that they were in her closet again? You really scared her, Michael. You told her that they wanted to eat her.”

Michael’s eyes never left the ceiling. “They have been planning it for many months,” he said, his eyes darting around again. “They want to eat her so that she will be one of them. Gulliberg wants more booniebogs. He’s going to take over your body and make all the other boys and girls here booniebogs, too.”

Before Dr. Jones answered Michael’s absurd story, the film faded into another session, from two years later. It was titled “M. Macray Session 291: January 15, 2004.” It took place in the same room, only this time, the boy was older. His hair had gotten darker, but he was still just as pale and skeletal as he had been in the first clip. The only difference was that his arms were covered in scratch marks, and his nails had been bitten to the quick. The technology had clearly gotten better, as Enjolras was able to see that Michael’s fingers were bloody from where he had bitten so hard that the skin had broken.

Michael had taken his place at the table before Dr. Jones had even entered the room, but it looked far more likely that he was too afraid to go anywhere else in the room than it did him getting better. His lip was bleeding from where he had bitten through it, and he was digging what was left of his nails into his biceps.

By the time that Dr. Jones had entered, Michael had taking to staring at the cabinet across the room from him. His eyes were wide and locked on the handles. He was making a strange noise that sounded like a cross between a scream and a whimper.

Dr. Jones sat down next to him and waved a hand in front of Michael’s eyes. Michael didn’t even notice. His unusual noise got louder, and he began to yell, “No, Gulliberg, you can’t have her! She’s _my_ Claire, not yours! You can’t take her away from me! I won’t let you!” His eyes widened, and he screamed again before ripping his gaze away and looking down at the ground, bending his chest down to his knees and covering his ears, making his noise once again.

The next session flipped on, although this time, it was only Dr. Jones’s face that filled the screen. He was holding a document in his hand, and was looking between it and the camera. “Today is October fifth, two-thousand-and—four. I have just had my three-hundred-and-fifth session with Michael. He did not speak the entire time, but he ended up getting so scared that he lost control of his bladder. I have made the executive decision to double his medication, and see if that makes the hallucinations stop.”

It faded into another one. “July eighth, two-thousand-and-five. Session four-hundred-and-thirty. Michael seems to be doing much better on his new medication. He has not hallucinated Gulliberg or his booniebogs for nearly two months, after nine years of being in constant fear of this fictitious character. I believe that we are heading in the right direction, and that he will be a normal child again soon.”

“December tenth, two-thousand-and-five. Session six-hundred. It has been seven months since Michael has had a hallucination.”

“April thirtieth, two-thousand-and-six. Session seven-ninety-one. It has been exactly a year since the last appearance Gulliberg has made in Michael’s psyche. I am happy to say that I believe that we have found the cure for Michael’s schizophrenia.”

Enjolras was beginning to feel confused. Dr. Valjean had warned him that this was not going to be an easy session, but so far, while he felt bad for the kid, he didn’t feel unsettled at all. There had to be some catch, but hey, the kid was getting better, wasn’t he?

The next session was when everything changed. Dr. Jones looked haggard, and he had dark bruises under his eyes. “July twelfth, two-thousand-and-six. Session eight-hundred-and-ten. Michael’s medication has stopped working, and the hallucinations are back worse than ever. In our session today, Michael believed that Gulliberg and I were the same person, and he physically attacked me. I have decided that the best option for us to pursue is Electrical Current Therapy.”

The film went black for a few seconds, but it kicked back on to the view of a medical room with the caption “M Macray Session 812: July 18, 2006.” Michael was lying on the bed, his face covered up with a light blue sheet and his body covered in light blue cloth pajamas. There were electrodes connected to different spots of his scalp, with the majority of them attached to a thick leather band. Dr. Jones made sure that the electrodes were all lined up correctly before moving over a machine in the corner of the room that was attached to Michael by a series of wires. His arms and his legs, as well as his chest, were strapped down to the bed using more leather straps, and there was a light above his waist so that the doctor could see exactly what he was doing when he stuck the electrodes to the boy.

Enjolras began to feel sick to his stomach. He knew exactly what this was. This was the treatment that caused Dr. Jones his ability to work with children, and the one that had nearly banned him from the psychiatric world at all. This was the experiment that nearly killed the child. Poor Michael would never be the same again.

As soon as the nurse walked into the room, Enjolras wanted to look, but he knew that if he did, Dr. Valjean and Dr. Jones would make him watch it again, and again, until he paid enough attention that he could tell that exactly what had happened in the film.

Enjolras let out a strangled breath as Dr. Jones flipped on the machine. God, watching Michael suffer in action was so much worse than reading about it in Grantaire’s article. As soon as the electricity hit Michael’s brain, his entire went rigid before he began to violently convulse on the table. Dr. Jones watched him, seemly calm by the reaction. Enjolras had never seen this procedure done before now, so he had no idea if Michael was supposed to move like that, or not.

When Michael’s hair began to smoke, though, and the inside of the cloth of his thighs began to turn a dark yellowish-brown, Dr. Jones’s calm expression turned to one of panic. He shut off the machine and raced over to the patient, yelling directions at the nurse and hitting a red button next to the bed. Several other nurses rushed into the room, and Dr. Jones tried to get Michael to stop convulsing. He went over to a cabinet on one side of the room and pulled out a small bottle and a syringe.

He brought the bottle over the Michael, and had one of the nurses hold his arm down while he injected the serum into the boy’s arm. Luckily, it seemed to do the trick, and the boy’s tremors began to slow down nearly immediately.

Once he was calm, Dr. Jones instructed the nurses to remove the bindings from around his arms and his legs. They did as he asked, and soon, the only thing holding the boy to the bed was the strap around his chest. One of the nurses covered Michael’s legs and waist with a blanket before she began to clean him, so that his genitals would be hidden on the tape.

It was then that Dr. Jones began to try and remove the electrodes. The first ones came off without any trouble, only leaving behind a few slightly-swollen red circles on his cheeks, nose, and in front of his ears. When Dr. Jones began to take the main strap off, however, there seemed to be some resistance.

He gave the band a few tugs before releasing it and going back over to the cabinet, where he pulled out a cloth and a large bottle of a clear solution. He placed both on a metal rolling table and brought it next to the bed before grabbing his stool from next to the machine and sitting down next to the bed. He put the solution on the cloth and gently rubbed around the band, telling the nurse that was in the room during the procedure that the glue hard just hardened more than normal due to the consistently of Michael’s hair.

The solution seemed to do the trick, and the band slid off easily. What came with it, though, was more than enough to make Enjolras’s stomach churn, and he vomited directly onto Dr. Valjean’s desk.

Attached to the nodes were thick circles of skin and hair, the bloodied flesh hanging limply off the circles. Dr. Jones’s expression turned to one of pure terror, and he pressed down lightly on Michael’s forehead to see that where the skin had not been torn, there were thick gray blisters and oozing puss.

Dr. Jones put a hand over his mouth and looked over to the nurse, who was looking at Michael as though she had seen a ghost. She could only look at him for a few seconds before she darted across the room and doubled over, vomiting on the floor near the door.

The cloth over Michael’s face began to become spotted with red. Dr. Jones looked at it and let out a deep breath before leaning forward and removing it.

Enjolras let out a shock as Michael’s head rolled to the side, blood running in thin streams from the corner of his mouth, his nostrils, and his ears.

It was his face staring back at him. 

 

19

 

Enjolras had to admit, when the film was over, he was rather glad that he had been sitting in Dr. Valjean’s plush patient chair as opposed to standing, as he was sure that fainting on a cushion felt a whole lot better in the long run than falling on a linoleum floor would have.

When he came to, both Dr. Valjean and Dr. Jones were staring down at him, identical looks of concern on their faces. “Are you all right, Mr. Macray?” Dr. Valjean asked, grabbing a water bottle off his desk and handing it to Enjolras. Enjolras took it, but he was so shaky that he had to give it back to Dr. Valjean in order to have it opened. Once the cap was off, he took the bottle back and took a slow sip, trying to calm down his racing heart.

The image of Michael’s face was burned into his mind, and every time he blinked, all he saw was the burnt, blistered skin coming off in jagged strips. His own forehead began to feel as though it was burning, and he raised a hand up to press against it tenderly.

Dr. Jones made sure that Enjolras was stable before going back around the desk and sitting down in Dr. Valjean’s desk. “Enjolras, do you understand what it was that we just showed you?”

Enjolras didn’t respond. There was no way that that was him. Sure, Michael had _extremely_ similar features, but Enjolras had never experienced any of the terrifying hallucinations that the boy seemed to suffer from so severely. Besides, he had never heard of those Bullyburns, or Hollywogs, or whatever it was that he claimed to see all around the room. And that demonic guy, the one who ate children and turned them into one of his minions? What was that about?

Dr. Jones waved his hand in front of Enjolras’s face, trying to get his attention. Dr. Valjean didn’t say anything, preferring to sit back by the doorway and watch what has going on.

After several minutes, what Enjolras had seen had sunk in enough for him to understand it better. He had thought when he read the article that what Dr. Jones did to that boy was a horrible thing, and that it happened because he wasn’t paying attention, but it truly looked like an accident. Dr. Jones couldn’t have faked that shocked and terrified look that he had when he realized that the electrodes weren’t going to come off without a fight.

Dr. Jones tried again. “Enjolras. I need you to answer me. Did you understand the video?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I think so, sir. You had a patient named Michael who was really sick and he got hurt while under your care.”

“Do you . . . do you understand your connection to Michael? And to me?”

“Not really, sir. He looks a lot like me, but I don’t have any brothers that I know about, and my male cousin’s name is Joshua, not Michael. Besides, he doesn’t look anything like me, or Michael.”

Dr. Jones’s eyes widened, and he gave Dr. Valjean a panicked look before turning his eyes back to Enjolras. He stared at him for a minute before reaching down to a black briefcase next to the chair and pulling out a thick manila folder. He flipped back the front cover and pushed the folder across the desk. “Enjolras, this is the file that I had of everything to do with Michael, back when he was my patient. There are images of him, and of his family, and of the drawings that he made of the hallucinations he was having. I would like you to look through the folder, please.”

Enjolras took the folder. He skimmed the first page, with was simply a form stating all of Michael’s information on his very first visit to Dr. Jones’s office when he was five or six. It listed all of his basic medical information, such as his height, weight, blood type, allergies, etc., but Enjolras would be lying if he said that there was anything in the document that he found remotely interesting.

After the first several pages, though, Enjolras began to get to the deeper aspects of Michael Macray’s mind. Michael kept a journal, which he was instructed to write in anytime that he felt that something was not right. The journal was filled cover to cover, and there were several ripped sheets of notebook paper that had been stapled to the last page.

Enjolras tried to read the entries, but Michael’s handwriting and his mental capacity were both so jumbled that he could only make sense of a few of the lines. From what he could tell, Michael’s hallucinations started after he and his sister were abused by Cody, and grew worse the older that the boy got.

Dr. Jones confirmed the change. He stuck his hand out and paused Enjolras’s page flipping, stopping him on an entry about the vicious things that his hallucinations told him they were going to do to Claire. “The first time that I saw Michael, he was just a normal boy that suffered from night terrors and was fiercely protective of his younger sister. The night terrors were what I saw him for, because his parents weren’t sure how to deal with them, and were hoping that I would be able to get them to stop . . . and I did, for a little while, but after his episode with Mr. Marks, they came back stronger than ever.”

He shook his head sadly. “Right before he started puberty was when things really started to change, though. He was around nine years old the first time that his parents expressed to me that they thought his night terrors had started happening to him when he was awake, rather than just a few times a week during the night. He began to go through phases where his parents or his sister would try to talk to him, and he would stare right past them. It was almost like he couldn’t hear them, or like he was in a different world from them.”

“Maybe he was just autistic,” Enjolras suggested, his stomach tying itself in knots. God. he couldn’t imagine what kind of life that poor boy must have had. He had had a few night terrors himself over the years (take the first dream about Claire, for example), but to experience them when he was awake? He didn’t know how he was able to function.

Dr. Jones shook his head again. “I considered autism, but whenever he wasn’t experiencing an episode, he was fully functional and had a higher level of intelligence than many of the other kids his age. It wasn’t until he began to talk about things that weren’t there that I began to suspect that it was something deeper.” He took the folder out of Enjolras’s hands, and flipped through the pages until he found a stack of drawings. “When Michael was twelve, I started asking him to draw what it was that he was seeing. I hoped that expressing his fears visually would help him accept them and move past them.”

When Enjolras looked the first image, his stomach dropped. The drawing was not completely clear, as it had faded over the years, but Enjolras could see enough to tell that the creatures that Michael had been drawing had been the same that Enjolras had seen that day in the infirmary. Michael’s drawing had the same dark purple fur, daggered teeth, and terrifying gaze. Just seeing them made Enjolras feel like he was back there, and he looked around the room nervously to see if the creatures or Claire was hiding somewhere in the office.

Fortunately, it looked like the hallucinations were still a one-time thing, and after a few minutes, he stopped looking for Claire. As glad as he was that he didn’t have to keep seeing her, he also felt a strange sense of sadness, like there was a part of him missing. He reached out for the drawings, flipping through them to see if there were any images of her that he could look at to fill the void.

There were none.

Enjolras sighed, placing the stack of drawings back into the folder. Dr. Jones studied Enjolras for several long seconds before saying, “Enjolras, would you like to see some of the videos that I have of Michael, when his medicine was working and he was functioning fully? I have some of him with his sister and his parents, if that would intere―”

“Yes, please,” Enjolras blurted out, cutting the man off. Hopefully, _that_ would end the gnawing feeling in his stomach that was growing stronger the more time that he spent with the doctor.

Dr. Jones nodded, and he looked at Dr. Valjean for approval before closing the original video and going through the files on his USB drive until he found another folder labeled “M. Macray – 2005–2006.” He opened the folder and opened one of the videos.

Just like the other videos, this one had been recorded in Dr. Jones’s playroom. Michael was sitting at the table with a piece of paper and a bowl of crayons. There was a little girl sitting next to him, and she was trying her hardest to draw her brother with a broken purple crayon. She looked up at him every few seconds, her light-blonde braids bouncing off her shoulders as she stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.

“Mikey, stop moving,” she complained, reaching out and grabbing Michael’s hand as he stood up to grab more crayons off a table in the corner of the room.

Michael made a face at the girl before going over and grabbing what he wanted. He came back quickly, though, and sat back the same way as before.“There, Claire. Now you have more colors to draw with.”

Michael looked like a completely different person in this video, compared to all of the sessions that Enjolras had seen. Granted, all of the sessions had just been Dr. Jones talking, other than when Michael was a child, or when he was undergoing the procedure, but there was just a different atmosphere. Michael’s voice had gotten deeper, he had grown taller, and he was smiling for the first time in any of the videos.

Claire, too, had grown up. She was obviously still a child, but she had begun to develop breasts and had lost some of the childish features that she had in Enjolras’s dreams. Her face had slimmed out, and there were traces of acne across her forehead and the tops of her cheeks. 

It was obvious how much she idolized her brother, though, as she finished her drawing of him. She showed it to him, beaming with pride when he said that he liked it. She turned and faced the camera, bringing a chair over and standing on to show the image to the doctor.

Dr. Jones chuckled. “Claire always did that. I made sure that Michael and she always knew that there were cameras in the room, so that I could watch the sessions again to make sure that I was helping them to my fullest capability. She was worried that I wouldn’t see her pictures with the camera being so far away, so she always held them up so I could see.”

Enjolras stared at the screen in confusion. “What was wrong with Claire? She looks fine, to me.”

“She was, and she still is. When Michael’s episodes began to get worse, their parents thought that it would be beneficial for Claire to spend some time with me, just in case there were any signs that she was going to turn out like her brother. As far as I could tell, though, she was perfectly fine, and although occasionally her actions reflected those of her brother, I fully believe that she was just trying to connect with him in any way that she knew how. To her, if Michael was worried about the booniebogs, then she would be there to talk to him about it.”

“What about their parents? Was there anything wrong with them?”

Dr. Jones hesitated before shaking his head. “No. I didn’t have sessions with them, personally, but in my professional opinion, there was nothing off about them in the least.” He turned the computer screen back around, and clicked a few more documents. He stared at the screen for a few seconds, a cautious expression in his eyes. He looked back up at Enjolras. “Would you like to see Michael’s family, parents and all?”

Enjolras nodded. Dr. Jones looked at Dr. Valjean before turning the screen again.

When Enjolras saw the image, his stomach dropped once again. Staring back at him with young Michael on her lap and Claire by her side, was his mother. She looked a lot younger, and her hair was a dark auburn as opposed to the trademark golden blonde that Enjolras remembered growing up with. Leroy was standing next to Vivien, his arm around her shoulders, and an infant in his arms. He had a large smile on his face, and a look of pure joy in his eyes.

Enjolras shook his head, pulling his eyes away and staring down at the desk. Dr. Jones reached out and covered his hand, staring at Enjolras through his lashes. “Enjolras, son, are you all right?”

Enjolras didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced back over at the picture, shaking his head slowly. He had to be imagining things. He had gone so long without seeing his family that, even though he couldn’t stand his parents, and had spent most of his childhood and teenage years without ever seeing them, his mind was replacing the similar features that Michael and his family had with the ones from his own family. And the baby . . . he had no idea what to make of that. Michael had never mentioned another brother or sister in any of his sessions. Enjolras wondered why that was.

Dr. Jones, however, wasn’t taking the silence for an answer. “Enjolras, look at me.”

Enjolras did as he was asked.

“Enjolras, you and Michael are one in the same. You were my patient, and I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re lying. My name is Enjolras Scott Macray. I am twenty-four years old, I am an only child, and my parents have never gave a damn about me enough to take such a happy family portrait like that.” He shook his head. “Besides, if I was schizophrenic, I would know. I would have hallucinations, or I would hear voices, and that’s just not the case with me.” He shook his head as the purple creatures and the images of Claire in Dr. Valjean’s office came to his mind.

No. That had nothing to do with what he was focusing on right now. “Yes, I have trouble with dealing with emotions, but I’m nothing like Michael.”

“Enjolras, listen to me. You are Michael.”

“Stop saying that!” Enjolras got up out of the chair, and began to pace around. “I don’t have any scars like Michael does from where you ripped his skin off.”

Dr. Jones flinched at the commentary. He bit down on his lip and turned the computer once again. He opened up a few more files, and turned it towards Enjolras. “Enjolras, this is what you looked like immediately after the procedure.” He clicked to the next picture. “Here is what you looked like one week after you underwent a skin graph to fix the burnt skin.” He clicked to the last one. “Here is a school picture from three years after the procedure.”

There was no more denying it. The picture on the screen, that was him. He had seen that picture hanging up in his parents’ home long enough to recognize it in his sleep.

This time, when everything went black, the chair wasn’t there to catch him, and Enjolras fell.  

 

20

 

Nearly twenty-four hours passed before Enjolras woke back up. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the blinding florescent lights. There was a steady beeping to his right, and he could feel something cool running into the crook of his arm.

The beeping sound wasn't the only noise echoing in the room. Just past the beeping was the sound of laughter, followed by someone else complaining. Enjolras turned his head and slowly opened his eyes, trying to identify who it was that he was hearing, and where he was. The men were blurry, but as he blinked away his weariness and came back into himself, he saw that he was in the infirmary, and it was Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Combferre that he heard laughing. They were playing some sort of card game, and Grantaire and Combferre had obviously teamed up against Courfeyrac, who was shaking his head and hitting the mattress in irritation.

Enjolras watched them play for a few minutes before clearing his throat. “Hey, guys,” he said, his voice coming out raspy and hurting his throat.

The men looked over. Grantaire's face immediately lit up, and he jumped off the bed to come over to Enjolras. He put a hand on the back of Enjolras's neck, leaning down and kissing him deeply. Enjolras let himself enjoy the kiss briefly before he pulled back, sending a worried look to the nurse's office. Grantaire smirked. "Don't worry, Dr. Valjean gave Natalie the day off, since Combferre has more medical training than she does, even without med school." He kissed him again. "Besides, he told us you needed us three, and only us three "

"Yeah, and he told Combferre and I that we had to keep an eye on you and Grantaire so you didn't spend the next few days fucking," Courfeyrac nodded, chuckling when Combferre gave him a light slap on the back of the head before taking his hand and running his thumb over the back of his hand.

Grantaire looked at Courfeyrac and stuck his tongue out. Courfeyrac made a face back. Grantaire rolled his eyes and turned back to Enjolras, giving him another light kiss. He moved so that he was sitting behind Enjolras, maneuvering around until his arms were around Enjolras and Enjolras was between his legs.

Combferre did the same to Courfeyrac. He hugged him close before giving Enjolras a concerned look. "Enjolras, Dr. Valjean told me about what you two talked about. How are you holding up?"

Enjolras looked at Combferre in confusion. What did he mean, what Dr. Valjean and him had talked about? The last meeting that they had, all they did was talk about different methods that Enjolras could use when his nightmares turned to sleep paralysis, and that didn't seem like anything for Combferre to be concerned about."What do you mean?"

Combferre furrowed his brows, and pulled away from Courfeyrac to get off the bed and walk over. He grabbed a penlight from the cabinet on the wall next to Enjolras's bed. He put a hand on the back of Enjolras's head and tilted him back, shining the light in his eye, flicking it back and forth quickly.

Enjolras jerked his head back, letting out a low growl as Combferre tried to grab his hair again. "Enjolras, I need to examine you. Dr. Valjean said you had a fall, and since you don't remember talking to him and Dr. Jones about your past with schizophrenia and about your sister, I need to make sure that you didn't sustain any head injuries."

He lunged forward again, moving quicker than he had before. He gripped a handful of Enjolras's hair in his fist, wrapping the strands around his fingers as he pulled back. He used his free hand to hold apart Enjolras's lids, checking him with the light again. This time, Enjolras let Combferre do what he needed to do.

"Well, nothing looks wrong . . . I just it's because you just woke up that you don't remember."

Enjolras let out another growl. "Remember what? There's nothing to remember. Dr. Valjean and I talked about my nightmares, and he prescribed a new sleep aid for me. There's nothing there to be worried about."

"Enjolras . . ." Grantaire began, putting a hand on Enjolras's cheek and turning his head. Enjolras looked at him, his heart beating slightly quicker as he stared at his love's bright blue eyes and gorgeous curls. “Enjolras, do you really not remember?”

Enjolras stared at Grantaire for several seconds before shaking his head slowly.

Combferre looked back and forth between the couple before turning to face Courfeyrac. “Come on, Courf, let’s go raid Natalie’s office and see if she has any good pills we can scrounge up.”

Courfeyrac nodded, and soon, only Grantaire and Enjolras were the only ones in the infirmary. Grantaire moved out from behind Enjolras to sit in front of him, putting a hand on each of Enjolras’s knees to lock eyes with him. “Enjolras, Dr. Valjean told Courfeyrac, Combferre, and I everything that Dr. Jones and he told you. Would you like me to tell you what that was?”

Enjolras bit his lip. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. If he had fainted the first time that he was told the full story of who he was, why would he want to know anything about it for the second time? No, he was content not to know.

Grantaire, however, didn’t seem to agree. “I shouldn’t have phrased that as a question, because it wasn’t. You need to know what happened.”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were my lover. Why would you want to tell me something that you know is going to cause me distress? That doesn’t seem right.”

“Enjolras, I don’t _want_ to tell you anything, but you and I both know that it’s for the best, especially with all the nightmares that you’ve been having. If Dr. Valjean had told me this in confidence, but hadn’t had a session with you about it, I would keep my mouth shut, but since you just don’t remember . . . ”

Enjolras cut him off. “Grantaire, I don’t want to talk about this, and I don’t want to remember whatever it is that you are going to tell me. Just drop it.”

“No, Enjolras, I’m not going to drop it. We need to talk about you and Claire―”

Enjolras disappeared into his own world. For whatever reason, the mere mention of Claire revived Enjolras’s memories, and he was swept up in a whirlwind of images, from the drawings of the booniebogs, to the burns engraved into his scalp. He began to sweat, and his heart began to race. His vision began to go black around the edges, and his mind whirled, and whirled, and whirled, until finally, he was thrust into a world of memories of when he was Michael.

_It was a Sunday in the late nineties, and Michael was sitting on his bed with Claire, looking at a book. His back was pressed against the headboard, and his arms were wrapped around his legs as he rocked back and forth. Claire had a hand on his foot, and was rubbing circles into the fabric of his sock gently, trying to distract him from the creatures that had taken over the room._

_On the ceiling, there was an entire group of the purple creatures, their arms reaching out as the hung from their feet like bats. They stared at Michael with toothy grins, their long, grey daggers shaking as they cackled nefariously._

_By the closet, there were three large males sitting together, tossing the skull of their most recent kill back and forth like a hacky sack ball. They looked back and forth from the skull to Michael, snapping their teeth at him and giving the bone long, lingering licks._

_Michael stiffened, trying to keep his eyes focused on his sister, rather than on the demons. It was hard, even though she was reading him his favorite story._

_Claire moved her hand from Michael’s foot to his ankle. “Mikey, listen to the story, please.” She squeezed her hand over and over until he finally looked at her. She gave him a soft smile, turning the book around so that Enjolras could see the picture of the prince slaying the dragon. “You’re the prince, Mikey, and the dragon is your imaginary friends. Momma told me that you can beat them. I think that you should kill them with a sword like the prince does.”_

The memory changed, and both Enjolras and Claire had gained a few years. It was the day that they took the family photo that Dr. Jones had in his file. It was one of the last times that he really had a grip on his sanity, even if the little purple people had already been plaguing him for months.

_“Michael, leave Claire alone,” Leroy scolded, narrowing his eyes as Michael pushed his sister away from him once again. She had been listening to the photographer, and had moved closer to Michael and their mother. Michael had wanted his mother all to himself, and shoved Claire as far away as possible anytime she so much as looked at their mother._

_Michael ignored Leroy, and made a mean face at Claire, who began to pout and whimper. Vivienne leaned over and wrapped an arm around her, ignoring the irritated sounds of protest that Michael was letting out. “Hush, Michael. Claire just wants to be close to me, too. You have to share me.”_

_Michael rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to share his mother. Ever since the booniebogs had mentioned that his baby brother, Adam, had been born to be their king, he hadn’t left his mother’s side, especially when he noticed the sharp fangs that appeared in his brother’s mouth every time he was feeding._

_Michael had to watch out for her. If he didn’t, she would end up just like Claire, with constant threats of becoming the booniebogs’ lunch, and he_ really _didn’t want that.._

_He tried to be good, though, and the picture was taken without much struggle. The booniebogs were making faces behind the photographer, but his mother’s hand on his lower back was enough to calm him down._

_Once the photograph was finished, the booniebogs attacked._

Enjolras was yanked out of the memory. Grantaire was shaking his arms, a panicked expression on his face. “Enjolras? What’s wrong?”

Enjolras shook his head, trying to block out the images of the creatures. He leaned forward and dropped his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s waist and trying to slow his racing heart back to its normal pace. “I’m Michael Macray,” he whispered, turning his head to the side and burying his face in Grantaire’s neck. “I’m insane.”

“Sweetheart, you aren’t insane.” Grantaire adjusted Enjolras so that he could kiss him on the cheek. “If you were insane, you wouldn’t have been able to do all the amazing things that you have done. If you were insane, you wouldn’t have been able to function as well as you have since you lost all your memories.”

Enjolras shook his head, covering up his eyes and letting out a loud sigh. “No, I _am_ insane. My mind was so fucked up that I tried to convince my sister that she was going to die in her sleep. I must have done something horrible to her or Adam, or my parents would have told me about them even after I lost my memories. They are my family, too, and I should have known about them.”

“I can’t speak for your parents, but I know that if I were them, I would have spent all of my time making sure that you were better as an individual before I worried about making sure that you knew how to deal with other people properly.” He pulled back and looked at Enjolras, his eyes soft and full of love. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Enjolras shook his head. He couldn’t accept that. _He_ was the one who did something wrong, and _he_ was the one who was so mentally screwed up that his entire family had to break up. Hell, how could he even function now, knowing that everything that he thought about himself was a lie? Who was he? He knew he was gay, and he knew that he was interested in social justice, but was that because of who he was, or was that because of the way that his parents had reprogrammed him after he lost his memories? How much of what he thought about himself was really true?

The longer he sat in silence with Grantaire, though, the more that oddities about his parents began to become more clear. The large house, the mysterious lack of jobs . . . they hadn’t worked to make their living, they lived off the money from the lawsuit against Dr. Jones. They weren’t gone on work trips, they were spending their days with their normal children, passing off their schizo son onto nannies and maids, so that they did not have to deal with him.  Yes, he was still their son, but they couldn’t care enough about him to keep him as part of the family.

He wondered what happened to Claire and Adam, and if he had done something horrific to them for his parents to keep them apart. He mentioned to them nearly every time that he saw them for more than a few hours that he wanted a brother or a sister, so that he had someone to play with when they weren’t around. He _begged_ them to give him friends, at least, or a companion who he could discuss his readings and his ideals with.

It seemed, though, that they didn’t think that he was good enough anymore to be around other people.

Enjolras swallowed the lump in his throat, blinking rapidly to try and rid himself of the tears that had taken up residence in the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t do anything about his past now. He just had to focus on his relationship with Grantaire, his friendship with Combferre and Courfeyrac, and his continued work on becoming a better person, and becoming better at dealing with feelings. He had to forget that his parents had ever lied to him, and pretend that all of the shit with Claire never happened, for at least a few more months. Once he was back in the real world, he could talk to his parents about it if he really wanted to, but for now, he just had to focus on getting better.

If only Dr. Valjean had had the same thing in mind.

 

21

 

Three days flew by in a blur, and Enjolras soon found himself having to go back to facing the rest of the hospital and his routine. He just had to wait for Dr. Valjean to give him the all-clear.

While he waited, he was sitting on a hospital bed next to Grantaire, watching Courfeyrac raid Natalie’s office for more drugs to experiment with. Combferre’s daytime shift ended, so he had to leave, but he left the office unlocked under the promise that Courfeyrac would tell him everything that he took when he came back for his rounds that night. Enjolras couldn’t tell what Courfeyrac was grabbing, but he had taken an empty bottle off the shelf, and had already filled it up nearly to the top with miscellaneous pills.

Grantaire shook his head, letting out a sigh when Courfeyrac popped a pill from a new bottle in his mouth. “I’m really starting to worry about what Courfeyrac is going to do when he gets out of here. I know that living with Combferre will keep him in check, but he told me stories after he got here about some of the harder shit that he had been on right around the time he came out.”

Enjolras looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Was he taking pills, or something else?”

“Something else. _Definitely_ something else.” He looked back to the window, raising his voice. “Hey, Courf, come here.”

Courfeyrac glanced over his shoulder, popping another pill before nodding. He sauntered out of the office, slipping the bottle into his underwear. He adjusted himself before lounging on the bed next to Enjolras and Grantaire, splaying his legs out and crossing his arms behind his head as he lied back against the pillow. “Dr. Courfeyrac at your service, what can I get for you today?”

Grantaire shook his head. “I don’t want anything, Courf, and neither does Enjolras.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at Grantaire. “Who said I don’t want anything? I just learned that my whole life has been a lie. I _deserve_ to take something.”

“No, babe. You don’t know what he has, so unless you read up on all of the reactions your medicine has with every medicine Natalie has, you aren’t taking shit.” He looked back at Courfeyrac. “Anyway, I called you back over here to talk to you about what’s going to happen when you get out of here.”

 “I’m going to get out of here and move in with Combferre, and I’m going to try and get a job at my cousin’s coffee shop.”

“Will you take your depression meds and continue to see Dr. Valjean for your anger issues?”

“Yes, _mother,_ I will make sure that I take my medication.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you really think that Combferre would let me stop taking them?”

“I guess not.” Grantaire reached over and interlaced his fingers with Enjolras’s. He stared at the linked hands for several moments before squeezing Enjolras’s fingers. He looked back at Courfeyrac. “How are you going to deal with your parents?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “I’m only going to talk to them if they come to me first. I’ll call them when I get out just so they know, but I’m not going to lie about who I am any longer.”

“Good. Are you going back to drugs?”

Courfeyrac spun around on the bed, his gaze hardening. “Grantaire, you know that I’m never going to do that again. You know what happened.”

“I know, I’m just making sure.”

Enjolras looked back and forth between the boys in confusion. Courfeyrac noticed the look and sighed, his shoulders slumping. He began to speak. “When I was fourteen, I realized that I was gay. I had always known that I was different, but I didn’t realize it until I got my first hard-on during soccer practice when my coach took off his shirt. It scared the shit out of me, and I knew a guy who did heroin. I wanted to block out the feelings I was having, so I started talking heroin.”

He looked down at the bed, scrunching the sheet in his hand uncomfortably before looking back up. “I did heroin for three years before my parents found out, and they sent me to rehab. I got clean, but I started taking it again, plus doing lines of cocaine, almost the very same day that I got out. I tried prescription drugs, but they didn’t do anything for me since I was taking so much other shit.”

“Is coming here what made you stop taking that stuff?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “I got kicked out of school, and I got so low that I tried to kill myself. When I woke up in the hospital, I knew that something had to change, and I stopped doing drugs. Three months later, I had come out to my parents, and I was here. I didn’t even start taking prescription drugs again until Combferre started hooking  me up.”

Grantaire let out a huffed breath. “I still don’t get why he ever gave you that shit, since he _knew_ what you were like when you were high all the time. I know you were the one who wanted them to calm down, but fuck, if I was him, there’s no fucking way you’d be getting drugs from me.”

Courfeyrac looked like he was about to say something, but he was interrupted by Dr. Valjean walking into the office. Courfeyrac ground his teeth together, making his hands into fists and digging his nails into his hand as he struggled not to make a comment. Enjolras couldn’t tell if he was angry at Grantaire’s comment, or if he was simply trying to respond to what Grantaire said, but regardless, it was obvious that he hadn’t been done talking.

Dr. Valjean either didn’t notice Courfeyrac’s expression, or he didn’t care. He just nodded at Enjolras before gesturing with his head out the door. “Mr. Macray, I need to speak with you for a moment in my office, please, before I let you leave the infirmary.” He looked at Courfeyrac and Grantaire. “Gentlemen, you are free to go. I will see both of you at supper tonight.”

Dr. Valjean turned and walked out of the infirmary. Enjolras gave Grantaire a quick kiss before following him.

Once Dr. Valjean and Enjolras were both seated in the office, Dr. Valjean typed something in to his computer before smiling encouragingly at Enjolras. “All right, Mr. Macray, it has been three days since I told you the truth about who you are. How are you holding up?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t know, as good as I can, I guess. It still doesn’t seem real to me.”

“I know it doesn’t, but it’s the truth.” Dr. Valjean grabbed his computer mouse, and clicked on a document. He turned the screen towards Enjolras, handing him the mouse. “Mr. Macray, I have  folder of images that your parents sent me last night about what your life was like before Dr. Jones’s procedure. I would like you to take a look at them, and tell me if there is anything that strikes your memory.”

Enjolras nodded, and took the mouse. He only looked at one picture, though, before he looked back up at Dr. Valjean, a question in his eyes. “If I lost all of my memories, why do I remember getting molested by Cody? Did that even really happen?”

Dr. Valjean got a solemn look on his face, and he nodded. “Yes, son, I’m sorry, but it did. I have his confession written down in your file and everything.”

“Why do I remember that, but nothing else?”

Dr. Valjean thought for a moment before turning the screen back around. He opened another document and skimmed what it said before answering. “It says here that the abuse that Claire and you received was something that Dr. Jones felt would be valuable for you to know, so they told you about it once a week for six months after the procedure.”

Enjolras immediately began to feel sick. Six months of being told the story of his molestation . . . God, he could barely stand having to look back on the memory now. He couldn’t imagine having that be the _one_ thing that he could focus on to make sense of who he was. It was no surprise that he ended up being such a screwed-up adult.

Dr. Valjean waved his hand in front of Enjolras’s face, trying to get his attention. “Mr. Macray. I asked you a question.”

Enjolras started, looking Dr. Valjean straight in the eyes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, there are many things on this list that your parents told you. Would you like to know what all they said?” Enjolras thought for a moment for nodding. Dr. Valjean looked at the document. “All right. Well, then I believe it is best it your parents are the ones that tell you.” He leaned forward and clicked a button on his phone. “Send Mr. and Mrs. Macray in.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened. “My parents are here?” He tried to stand up. “Hell no, I’m not doing this. Goodbye, Dr. Valjean.” He began to rush to the door.

He had only made it two steps into the hallway when he was met by his parents.

 

 

22

 

For several long, tense seconds, Enjolras and his parents did nothing but stare at one another. Dr. Valjean stepped into the hall, putting a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder and directing him back into the office. He looked over his shoulder at Vivienne and Leroy, giving them a small smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Macray, welcome. Come on in, and let’s have a little chat.”

Dr. Valjean kept his hand on Enjolras’s shoulder until the Macrays were all in the room, so that Enjolras would not try to leave again. He locked the door and went over to the closet in the corner of the room. He pulled out two more chairs, and pushed them next to Enjolras before sitting down at his desk.

Once Vivienne and Leroy had taken their seats, Dr. Valjean began to speak. “Three nights ago, your son and I had a long talk with Dr. Emmett Jones. I presume that you remember that name?”

Vivienne and Leroy paled.

Dr. Valjean gave them a tight smile. “Ah. I see that you do.” He laced his fingers and set his hands on the desk, turning his eyes towards Leroy. “Mr. Macray, I would like you to tell your son the truth about his past, and what led your wife and you to decide to use Electrical Convulsion Therapy on your son.”

Enjolras crossed his arms, and turned to look at his father, his eyes hard and his jaw clenched tightly. “Yeah, Dad, how about you tell me about why you lied to me about my _entire_ life.”

It took several minutes before Leroy managed to speak. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, his feet tapping and his hands trembling. “Uhm, how about you ask us questions, and we’ll answer to the best of our ability.”

“Fine.” Enjolras thought for a moment about it for a moment before asking his first question. “Why did you let Dr. Jones do that to my head?”

Leroy didn’t answer. Vivienne took the question. “Honey, there was nothing else that we could do. We had tried all the medication on the market, and you just seemed to be getting worse. You were so afraid all the time, and it broke our hearts to watch you. You weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, and we could barely get you to leave your room.”

“The medicine was working for a while, though, right? What happened to make it stop working?”

Leroy answered this time. “We have no idea. One day, you were perfectly fine, the next, you were trying to hurt your younger brother because he was wearing purple.” He shook his head. “We thought that maybe Adam had done something to provoke you, but when we asked him what had happened, he said that you came in from the other room out of nowhere and tried to smother him. You hallucinated the booniebogs nearly constantly after that. We had to send Claire and Adam to your grandparents’ house just to keep them safe.”

So there _was_ a reason that his parents never told him that he had siblings. If he was in their position, and his child had tried to smother their brother or sister, he would probably have responded in the same way.

Enjolras swallowed harshly and pressed his lips together, nodding. “Is that where Claire and Adam lived, while I lived at the big house? Or did they get to live with you?” He shook his head, closing his eyes and turning his face towards the door. “Did they ever miss me or were they glad that I was gone?”

Vivienne reached out and tried to put a hand on Enjolras’s thigh, but he pushed her away. He had never wanted her to touch him, and knowing that she had lied to him for so many years made his distain even worse. She sighed. “Of course they miss you. Adam was only a child when you lost your memories, but Claire was with you constantly from the time she was born until the procedure. She even stayed in the hospital with you. We couldn’t get her to leave.”

“She also was the one who had to deal with your hallucinations the most. Things were always happening to her in your head, and no matter how much you scared her, she sat with you and talked to you until you were able to think clearly,” Leroy added, putting his arm around kissing her on the head.

“What about my first question?”

Leroy nodded. “Yes, they lived with us in our house. We didn’t know what to do with you, but once we won the money from our case against Dr. Jones, we knew that you needed a new life, free from everything that you went through as a child.”

“. . . except for what happened with Cody.”

Leroy paled. He bit his lip before nodding slowly. “We . . . we didn’t want to tell you, but the doctors at the hospital told us that something like that, you needed to know. They felt that if you got into a relationship in your adult life, you needed to understand any fear and discomfort that you felt being intimate with . . . him.”

Enjolras’s ears perked up at his father’s words. “’Him’?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

Leroy looked at his wife again nervously. It took several seconds, but eventually, he answered. “When you were eleven, you told us that you were gay, and the few crushes that you experienced before the procedure were all on other boys.” He took Vivienne’s hand, and ran his fingers over hers uncomfortably. “Your mother and I . . . we, well, neither of us wanted there to be anything else about you that gave other people a chance to be mean.”

Vivienne nodded. “The doctors told us what to tell you so that you could have a successful relationship, and we adjusted what we said so that we didn’t have to worry about you falling in love.”

As the conversation went on, Enjolras had begun to understand his parents’ choices, and his anger had begun to go away. When he heard this, though, his anger was back full-force. “You made me a sociopath because you didn’t want me to be _gay_?” he spat out, digging his nails into the arms of the chair. He shook his head, his stomach twisting and the desire to physically react nearly overwhelming him. “Fuck, guess you guys will be sorry to know that I still turned out to be a full-on fag.”

Leroy’s eyes widened at his son’s admission before he shook his head rapidly. “Son, we don’t care if you’re gay, we just don’t want you to have to face any more adversity.”

“I haven’t faced ‘any adversity’ with anyone other than you two! Here, everyone understands that I don’t have typical emotionally responses, and that I lack any impulse control. I thought that something was wrong with how my brain was wired, but now I know that I’m like this because you two made me like this!”

“Enjolras—”

He cut his father off. “No. Save it. I don’t care what either of you have to say. You are my parents. You should have protected me, and made sure that I grew up knowing that I was loved for who I was. You didn’t have to make me into an entirely new person.” He looked at Dr. Valjean. “Doctor, I want them to leave. I do not feel like they are helping me get better, and I would be better if they never contacted me again.”

Dr. Valjean nodded. “If that’s what you feel needs to be done, then I will have your parents escorted out. I have someone else who you need to see, though, before that can happen.”

Enjolras slouched down in his chair, crossing his arms and glaring at the man. “Fine.”

Dr. Valjean clicked the button on his phone again. “Send in my next appointment, please.”

Enjolras shook his head, and stared down at the ground. God. He had been so worried when he realized he was interested in Grantaire about how his parents would have taken it, and now he knew the answer. If they hadn’t been so intent on making him straight, he would have adjusted to being with Grantaire so much easier. He never would have questioned whether or not he could really have feelings for another man, and he would have been more comfortable with the sex with his parents had taken away the fears that went along with only knowing about Cody.

Behind Enjolras, the door opened. He glanced over his shoulder, his anger dissipating immediately. A young woman with a light blonde bob was standing in there doorway, tears in her ears. Behind her was a teenage boy with a military-styled haircut., who had to be Adam, as everything other than his hair looked just Enjolras. He looked a bit confused about his surroundings, but the woman had tears in her eyes. “Michael?” she whispered, taking a step into the room.

“Claire?”

When the woman nodded, Enjolras jumped out of the chair and rushed across the room, pulling his sister in his arms and spinning her around. “Oh, Claire, it’s so good to know that you are a real person, and not just someone I hallucinated.”

Claire hugged Enjolras back, but she gave him a nervous look at his words. She looked back and forth between her parents and Dr. Valjean, looking for someone to tell her what Enjolras was talking about.

Dr. Valjean took the bait, and beckoned all three siblings to the desk. He got up and grabbed two more chairs for Claire and Adam. Once they were sitting down, Dr. Valjean looked at Claire. “Miss Macray, a few months after your brother came into our care he started dreaming about how he pictured you back when you two were children.” He looked at Enjolras. “Enjolras, can you tell Claire what you saw when you dreamt of her?”

Enjolras slunk down in his chair. “Eyes filled with blood, bruises all over the face, bruises all over the body, and you looked like someone strangled you. You asked me to help you, over and over and over, but you could barely speak, and you weren’t breathing.” He slid down lower, scuffing his feet on the floor. “You were a child.”

“And after Nurse Frederickson gave you that medicine?”

“I hallucinated you all around the hospital, asking for help.”

Claire let out a gasp. “Oh, Michael.” She reached out and took his hand in hers. “Nothing ever happened to me. No matter how bad your hallucinations got, nothing ever happened to me.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Cody got to you. He hurt you.”

Vivienne cut in before Claire could say anything. “Sweetheart, nothing happened to Claire. Cody only hurt you.”

Enjolras shook his head again, his mouth growing dry and his eyes growing wide. “No. I read the article. Dacoda Marks hurt you, and left bruises all over your face and neck. I _read_ it.”

Vivienne shook her head again. “No, honey. Claire wasn’t part of it. Cody didn’t touch her.”

“No, Mom, he’s right, remember?” Adam said, speaking for the first time since he entered the room. “I read the article, too, plus me and Claire talked about it a few years ago.”

Leroy said nothing.

Claire, on the other hand, had plenty to say. “Yeah, Mom, he _did_ hurt me too. You were just too focused on Michael’s hallucinations to pay any attention to what was wrong with me. I remember you and dad telling everyone that I tripped over a toy and fell down the stairs, but Michael and I told the police the truth when they asked us, regardless of what you told us to say.”

Vivienne let out a breath, and she looked at Leroy. “Did you know about this?” Leroy didn’t answer. Vivienne let out a low growl before kicking her husband. “Leroy!”

Leroy jumped. He hesitated before nodding. “Yes, I remember.”

Vivienne’s eyes hardened. “ _What?_ ”

“I . . . you were so heartbroken over anything happening to Enjolras, I couldn’t bear to tell you what all happened to Claire. You were away on your spa weekend with your sister, and . . . it just made sense to keep what happened to Claire from you.”

Vivienne didn’t say anything to her husband. Instead, she turned to her daughter. “Claire, I’m sorry that I was never able to help you with this part of your childhood. If I had known, I promise you that things would have been different.” She looked at Enjolras. “Enjolras, I apologize for leaving so suddenly, but we will need to finish this conversation at a later time. Your father and I need to have some discussions alone before we try to help you anymore.”

Vivienne glared at her husband, muttering, “We are leaving. Now,” before storming out of the room. Leroy apologized to all three of his children before following Vivienne out.

Enjolras barely even noticed that his parents left, as he was far more interested in getting to know his siblings. He turned to his siblings, looking them up and down. Claire looked so different than she did in his dreams. She was tall, and athletic, and was wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a pink polo. She had an engagement ring on her left ring finger, and when she leaned back in the chair, it was obvious that she was five or six months pregnant. Enjolras looked down at the belly, giving his sister a smile. “I’m going to be an uncle?”

Claire smiled back, and nodded. She took Enjolras’s hand and placed it on the side of her stomach. Enjolras’s jaw dropped when he felt the baby kick. Claire’s smile grew. “Her name is going to be Addie Michelle, after both of her uncles.” She reached over and put a hand on Adam’s shoulder, giving him a smile, too.

Enjolras stared at Claire’s belly for a few more seconds before turning to Adam. “I want to know everything about you. Are you in school still? Or do you work?”

“I’m actually just a few weeks away from leaving for boot camp, for the army.” He put his elbows on his thighs, and leaned forward. “God, I can’t believe I’m finally getting to see you in person. Mom and Dad had pictures all over the house of you. More than either of us.”

“Did they tell you anything about me? Did you guys ever ask to see me?”

Claire nodded enthusiastically, her brows raising. “Oh, I asked Mom and Dad all the time if I could see you. Adam did, too, as he got older, and wanted to be able to do things with his older brother.”

“Yeah, I tried to convince Dad that he was too old to teach me anything, so I needed you,” Adam agreed. “I almost convinced Dad one time, when I got him so confused over something in my politics class that he had a panic attack.”

Enjolras snorted. “Damn, I would have been good for you there. Politics and social justice was everything that I did before I came here.”

He was going to say more, but he was interrupted by Dr. Valjean clearing his throat. The siblings looked over at him. “I want to discuss Enjolras’s treatment with you two. He will need a place to go once he gets out of here, Claire, and I believe that he would be much better off with you than with your parents.”

Claire nodded. “Absolutely. It would be good to have another pair of hands with the baby, and I’m sure that Brian wouldn’t mind at all. He has always said that, if he got the chance, he’d love to meet my big brother.”

Dr. Valjean nodded. “Good. Well then, Miss Macray, there are some things that you should know about Enjolras’s treatment. He is on―”

Before Dr. Valjean was able to tell Claire anything, he was interrupted by Grantaire bursting into the room, a terrified look on his face. “Dr. Valjean, something is wrong with Courfeyrac,” he exclaimed, doubling over and trying to catch his breath. He panted for a few seconds before straightening again, continuing to talk breathlessly. “He took a bunch of pills, and he isn’t responding to anything I do to get his attention.”

Dr. Valjean stood up, walking around his desk and heading towards the door. Enjolras jumped up and followed him, Claire and Adam close behind.

They went down the hallway and to the dormitories. Grantaire and Dr. Valjean began to run as soon as they left the office. Enjolras did too, at first, but he struggled to make it all the way to the room without having to stop, as did Claire. Adam, on the other hand, was even faster than Grantaire or Dr. Valjean.

Eventually, though, Enjolras reached the room, and he was shocked at what he saw. Courfeyrac was sitting on the bed with his back to the wall, his eyes open and staring straight ahead. He was extremely pale, and there were streaks of vomit running from his mouth, down his shirt, and into a wet pile on his lap. His lips were tinted with blue, and it didn’t look as though he was breathing.

Dr. Valjean began to lunge forward, but Claire moved in front of him. “I’m a trauma nurse, let me handle this,” she said, sitting down on the bed next to Courfeyrac and checking his pulse.

A few seconds after Claire pressed her fingers against Courfeyrac’s wrist, she paled, and she shook her head. She turned to Dr. Valjean, a sad look in her eyes. “Doctor, you need to call an ambulance to have this young man’s body taken away.”

“No!” Grantaire moved to Courfeyrac’s other side, turning his face towards him and pushing on his arm. “Courf, wake up. You need to get rid of the rest of the pills.”

He turned towards Claire, tears filling his eyes. “He said that he was feeling really bad, so I told him to stick his fingers down his throat and make himself throw up while I went and got Dr. Valjean. He was fine when I left just a few minutes ago!”

Claire reached out and removed Grantaire’s hands off Courfeyrac. “Overdoses can happen over the course of just a few minutes. He could have choked on his vomit, or his heart could have suddenly stopped from whatever he took.” She turned back to Dr. Valjean. “I’m sorry, but this young man is dead.”

 

23

 

 

Several hours after the paramedics had come and taken Courfeyrac’s body, Grantaire and Enjolras were still shell-shocked by their friend’s death. Dr. Valjean had told them to go to dinner like normal, but to go on to their rooms afterwards rather than go to their normal meetings. Neither one of them could stomach their food.

Enjolras wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. It was uncomfortable, sitting in silence with Grantaire. He kept staring at the empty seat across from Grantaire, and he knew that the other man was doing the same thing.

Grantaire had not said a word since Claire had announced Courfeyrac’s time of death.

Enjolras hadn’t either, if he was being honest. He tried to tell his sister and his brother goodbye, and to tell the paramedics what had happened, but he couldn’t get the words out. All he could do was stare into space, trying to figure out what Courfeyrac had done to deserve to die so young, in such a violent way. He had had so much left to do in the world, and he was only a few weeks away from getting out of this place! He had been such a good person, and one of the sweetest people that Enjolras had ever met. There was no reason for him to be taken so young.

He picked at his food, trying to convince himself just to take a few bites. He knew that Grantaire wasn’t going to eat, or sleep for that matter, and he knew that he needed to be strong for his lover. If he didn’t eat, he wouldn’t be able to do that.

He was only able to take a few bites before nausea overwhelmed him. He pushed the plate away. He reached out and took Grantaire’s hand, tracing his thumb over his skin. Grantaire looked up with teary eyes and squeezed his hand before pulling it away when an orderly walked by.

However, when the orderly stopped, Enjolras looked up, his eyes widening when he saw Combferre standing there, a grin on his face and his eyes bright. “Hey, guys,” he said, clipping his nametag on to his shirt. “Where’s Courf?”

Grantaire let out a shaky breath, and his shoulders began to shake as he struggled not to sob. Combferre gave him a worried look before turning back to Enjolras, his brows furrowed and his eyes searching Enjolras’s. “Enjolras? Where’s Courfeyrac?”

Enjolras took a deep breath before standing up and gesturing with his head towards the door. He didn’t wait for Combferre to respond before walking out of the hall.

Once he got out of the door, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, staring down at the ground and scuffing his feet while he waited.

It took a few minutes, but Combferre came out to see him, the worried look in his eyes turning to anger. “Okay, Enjolras, tell me where Courfeyrac is, all right? This isn’t funny. He’s my fiancé, and I deserve to know.”

“Courfeyrac is dead, Combferre,” Enjolras whispered, his eyes still trained on the ground.

Combferre didn’t say anything. Enjolras looked up to see Combferre staring at him with a terrifying look on his face. Enjolras swore that he could hear Combferre’s heart shattering as it echoed off the walls. His eyes went completely blank, and his mouth gaped open. He was completely frozen.

All of the sudden, his limbs thawed, and he collapsed to the floor in a heap. Enjolras had never seen anything like it. Combferre didn’t cry, and he didn’t sob. It was like all of his bones had evaporated out of his body at once, leaving him a mere pile of skin and muscle. He stared forward, his eyes still blank and unseeing.

Enjolras crouched down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and grabbing his bicep with his other hand. He gently lifted him up, cradling him to his chest. “Come on, let’s get you to Dr. Valjean’s office,” he said, squeezing Combferre tightly.

Combferre never responded.

 

***

 

It wasn’t until that night that Combferre showed any sort of emotional response to his fiancé’s death. Dr. Valjean had given him the keys to the roof, as well as a bottle of whiskey and a promise that he would drink safely, so he grabbed Grantaire and Enjolras from their room after curfew started, and pulled them up to have their own celebration of Courfeyrac’s life.

Twenty minutes into their session, Combferre was already buzzed, but neither Enjolras not Grantaire were drinking. Combferre was sitting at Courfeyrac and his normal spot, while Grantaire and Enjolras sat on the ground. Grantaire and Combferre were trading stories back and forth about experiences that they had in their lives.

Combferre was, unsurprisingly, the one that had the most to say. “I remember one time in Courf’s junior year, so my sophomore year of college, Courfeyrac had just gotten out of rehab for, like, the third time, and we had been downtown for some concert that he had been dying to see. We passed a group of burly, muscled men on our way there who were beating up on this homeless man, and talking shit to him about the way that he smelled and about the way that he looked.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Courfeyrac had no muscle, and he looked like he was twelve, but he managed to take down all the men single-handedly with a bottle of pepper spray and a sandwich that he’d brought in case he got hungry. I don’t remember how he used the sandwich, but I know that he gave it to the homeless man when he was done.”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah, I remember him telling me about that. He said that he knew what it was like to have people rag on you, and he couldn’t stand when people talked to him like that, so he had to stop it from happening to someone else.”

Combferre nodded. “Yeah. That was the same night that I realize that I loved him.”

Grantaire looked surprised at the admission. “But I thought you were straight when you started working here.”

Combferre shook his head, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. “No, I’ve always been bisexual, and Courfeyrac knew that. I don’t know why he always told people that I was straight before we got together.”

Enjolras threaded his arm through Grantaire’s, leaning his head on his shoulder and taking in the warmth that Grantaire provided. He knew that Combferre was hurting and needed Grantaire and his affection, but he just needed to be close to Grantaire and to know that the man he had fallen so in love with was still there, by his side. “How did you two meet?” he asked, letting out a soft sound when Grantaire kissed his hair.

Combferre stared at the couple for a moment before lowering his legs and getting of the block, moving to sit next to them. He took Grantaire’s other arm and wrapped it around his own shoulders, turning so that his legs were thrown across Grantaire’s thighs, his feet resting on Enjolras’s knees. “We met when he was in rehab the first time, when he was fifteen. I had been working on my associates at Meremac, and I ended up volunteering at Lakeside for a few months to get some experience. I worked with him during one of his therapy sessions, and we just hit it off. Once he was out, we traded phone numbers and just became good friends.”

Grantaire nodded. “Courfeyrac once told me about how you were leading a NA meeting that he was in, and he wasn’t able to pay any attention to what you were saying because your fly was undone, and he couldn’t stop imaging what it would be like to pull your cock out and suck you off.”

Combferre flushed. “Yeah, he pointed out that it was undone the moment that the meeting was over. I was so embarrassed.”

“Do you remember the very first time that Courfeyrac introduced you to me?” Grantaire looked at Enjolras. “Combferre had just started working here to keep an eye on Courfeyrac, and I was in one of the AA meetings when Courfeyrac was still living with Joly. Joly was having a rough night, so Courf was given permission to sleep in my room, since I had no roommate, and all he could talk about was this guy that he was so in love with, who would never return his feelings.”

“And the next morning he made some joke about climbing me like a tree when I gave them their wake-up call. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but Courfeyrac was shirtless and had morning wood, so I immediately started to get hard and ran out of the room as quickly as I possibly could.”

Grantaire snorted. “It was fucking hilarious, and Combferre got _so_ red every time he saw me after that. Courfeyrac eventually dragged Combferre over and made him sit down and talk with me, but he spent the whole time cracking jokes and hitting on Combferre to see what color he could get him to turn.” His face fell. “I’m really going to miss that.”

“Yeah, me too.” Combferre picked up the bottle of whiskey and took a large swill, making a face when the alcohol began to burn. He put the bottle back down. “You know what the most fucked up part of this all is? I already put down a down payment on a house because I know that Courf hates apartments, and I adopted a Pharoah hound puppy for him because his parents never let him have a dog growing up.”

He shook his head, picking up the bottle and downing another gulp. “I was so fucking happy to finally have the life that I always wanted. I had the man that I was madly in love with, I had a house, I had a dog, and I just found out that I got accepted into Wash U’s medical school for next semester. I was going to tell Courfeyrac tonight.” He took another gulp.

Grantaire reached out and tipped the bottle away from Combferre’s mouth. “Honey, you need to stop drinking so much. You will feel horrible in the morning if you don’t slow down.”

Combferre yanked the bottle out of Grantaire’s grip. “Fuck that. The love of my life is _dead,_ Grantaire. I am going to feel horrible tomorrow regardless of how hung over I am.”

Another gulp.

As the conversation continued, Enjolras didn’t say anything. He had nothing _to_ say. Courfeyrac may have been his friend, but he didn’t know him nearly as well as Combferre or Grantaire did. It was really them who lost such a major part of their lives. Sure, Enjolras most definitely considered Courfeyrac his best friend, other than Grantaire, but he had only known the boy for a little over six months. Grantaire and Combferre, they had known him for years.

Regardless of how little he had known Courfeyrac, though, he still felt his death ache deep in his chest. He felt tears pressing against the corner of his eyes, and he leaned his head against Grantaire’s shoulder, reaching an arm out to lace his fingers with Combferre’s. “What are we all going to do now?” he whispered, looking up to meet Combferre’s eyes.

Combferre shrugged. “I don’t know.” He let out a breath, reaching up and rubbing at his eyes. He let out a pathetic chuckle. “How fucked up is it that my heart is so broken that I can’t even grieve properly? I should be crying, but here I am, as normal as I can be. A bit drunk, maybe, but still normal.”

Grantaire looked at him. He adjusted so that he could hold the other men better, lying onto his back and pulling them to his chest so that he was properly cuddling them. “You’re still in the first stage of grief, Combferre. We all are. It’s going to be a while before this really sinks in.”

Combferre didn’t say anything. Enjolras couldn’t either.

All he could think was, _If this hasn’t sunken in for us, I don’t want to be here when it does_. 

24

 

The autopsy confirmed everything t that Claire had said: the combination of drugs that Courfeyrac had taken had been too much for his body, and he had gone into cardiac arrest. The doctors didn't know what specific medication did it, since there were nearly a dozen foreign chemicals floating around in his bloodstream, but it really didn't matter what it was that killed him. All that mattered was that he was dead, and he was never coming back.

Enjolras and Grantaire watched the service with the other patients,  dressed smartly in black trousers and buttoned shirts in various colors. Combferre came by himself, wearing long black pants, and a long-sleeved black sweater.

He nodded at Enjolras and Grantaire when he saw them before walking over to them. However, when he reached them, he didn't stop, his expression changing as he charged on past. Grantaire furrowed his brow and ran after him, taking his arm and pulling him over to Enjolras.

Combferre shook his head, and tried to get free. "I can't do this," he said, his eyes widening and his breathing quickening. "I can't watch the love of my life get buried. I won't do it."

He tried to turn away, but Enjolras moved to his other side and wrapped his arm around his back. "Come on, Combferre. We'll stay with you the whole time."

Combferre didn't answer. He kept shaking his head, mumbling nonsense under his breath until he was led over to a group of people. He froze when a middle-aged woman with Courfeyrac's features approached him, her shiny black hair piled high on her head in a bun. She was wearing a dark-gray skirt and a black blouse, a large emerald necklace hanging from her neck.

"Hello, Combferre," she said, slipping her arms under Enjolras's and Grantaire's so that she could hug the trembling man. "It was good of you to come. I know Courfeyrac would have wanted you here." She pulled back and wiped a tear from her eye. "I knew I would be seeing you again soon, but . . . I had hoped it would be under more joyous circumstances. I'm sorry for all the hurt and pain I caused you and my son. If I had known he would do something like this . . . I never would have sent him away."

Combferre bit down hard enough on his lip that it bled. He nodded curtly, keeping his eyes locked on Courfeyrac's mother's. "Sara, your son was more than just my friend. We--"

"I know," Sara interrupted, putting her hand on Combferre’s arm. Combferre yanked his arm back, taking back its place under Grantaire’s sleeve and narrowing his eyes. Sara sighed, but nodded. “Courfeyrac called me a few days ago and told me everything. He talked about how he had fallen in love with you back when he was still in high school, and told me that I was unfair to you when I made that comment to you when I visited so many months ago.”

She shook her head before looking back up. “Combferre, you need to understand that everything I did, I did because I thought it was what was would help Courfeyrac live a normal life. His father and I only ever wanted him to be happy, and we didn’t think that he would truly be happy living his life out with a man, and going against our church.” Her tears fell harder, and she wiped them away again. “He sounded so happy when he told us that he was getting released, and that you two were getting married. I can’t say that I was happy to hear his news, but when he told me that he had been forcefully keeping himself there so that he wouldn’t have to deal with us, my heart broke.”

She leaned forward and kissed Combferre on the cheek, ignoring the grimace that she got in return. “I’m sorry that my son and you never got the future I’m sure you imagined . . . but I have something for you.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small box, which she handed to Combferre. “This ring was my grandfather’s wedding ring. I always imagined that Courfeyrac would wear it when the time was right, but . . . I think that it is better suited to you now, given the circumstances.”

Sara gave Combferre one last sad smile before walking over to the gravesite, where more people had begun to gather. Even Jonathon and Eponine, who had been released again two weeks prior, came to see their friend’s final resting place.

“We better go over there now,” Enjolras whispered, nudging Combferre with his shoulder. Combferre didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into the box and pulled out the ring, slipping it on his ring finger.

Eventually, they made it over to the grave, and just like before, Combferre did not cry.

 

***

 

Once the funeral was over, and most of the guests had gone back home, Enjolras and Grantaire were granted special permission by Dr. Valjean to go with Combferre back to the McCartney household, where they were having a get-together to eat finger foods and talk about all the good memories that they had made of Courfeyrac over the years.

Enjolras felt a bit out of place, seeing as he didn’t know anyone other than Combferre, Grantaire, and Dr. Valjean, but he knew that Courfeyrac would have wanted him there. He stayed glued to Combferre’s side, making sure that the man was all right.

He didn’t want to say anything, but he was extremely worried about whether or not Combferre was grieving properly. He hadn’t cried, he hadn’t talked about the death to his friends, and he barely even blinked when Courfeyrac’s parents lowered his coffin in to the ground. He just stared at a tree behind the grave, his eyes hooded and his hands clenched into fists by his side.

Family members came and went, but the only person who made any effort at all to talk to Combferre, Enjolras, or Grantaire was Courfeyrac’s mother, who was surprisingly friendly, considering all the things that Enjolras had heard about her when Courfeyrac was alive.

She sat down on the living room couch next to Combferre, putting a hand on his thigh and turning her upper body to face him. “Honey, I want you to know that if you need anything, you can come to me, all right?”

Combferre nodded, but he didn’t say anything back. Enjolras looked across the man to Grantaire, gesturing with his head towards the hallway.

Grantaire nodded before wrapping an arm around Combferre’s shoulders. “Combferre, we’ll be right back okay?”

Once again, Combferre nodded, but didn’t respond.

Enjolras started at him for a moment before standing with Grantaire and going out to the hallway. Once they had passed teary-eyed family members and confused children in black, he began to speak. “I’m really worried about Combferre,” he said, wrapping his arms around his lover’s waist and leaning his head on his shoulder. “He doesn’t seem like he’s letting himself really feel what’s going on.”

Grantaire kissed him on the head. “I know he’s not, but we have to let him deal with this in  whatever way helps him. For me, it helps to talk about him, and all the good memories that I have of him. For Combferre, I guess being quiet is just what he needs.”

“It just doesn’t seem healthy to me.”

Grantaire held Enjolras tighter, and leaned back against the robin-egg colored walls, running his fingers through Enjolras’s waves. “We just have to be there for him and help him in any way that we can. Eventually, be it today or three weeks from now, it’s going to hit Combferre that Courfeyrac is gone, and that he isn’t coming back. Combferre is still in the denial phase.” He lifted Enjolras’s chin for  quick kiss before saying, “We should go back in there. I don’t think that we should leave Combferre alone with any of Courfeyrac’s homophobic relatives for too long.”

Enjolras most definitely agreed. Unfortunately, when Grantaire and he got back into the living room, it seemed that Combferre had already found a family member to take his anger out on, and was yelling at a teenage boy, his eyes dark and his face flushed. His hands were in fists to his side, and he was leaning forward, towering over the boy with a terrifying look on his face.

The boy, however, didn’t look too scared. He was almost as tall as Combferre’s six-foot-two, and had dark brown hair that was spiked up in the front. “You’re the reason my fag of a cousin is dead,” the boy was hissing, reaching up and taking a handful of Combferre’s shirt.

“Fuck you,” Combferre growled back, clenching and unclenching his fist. “I loved Courfeyrac more than anything in the world, and I did everything that I could to make sure that he was happy and had everything that he needed at all times.”

“Well, clearly you fucked up somewhere, because he’s dead, isn’t he? If you had really been watching out for him, where were you when he swallowed those pills, huh?”

Combferre shook his head. “Fuck you, Carl. You’re just pissed because I chose your cousin over you. News flash, buddy. Courfeyrac was everything that I ever wanted in the world, and he and I were going to get married. You, you’re going to die alone, and no one will even care that you’re gone, all because you’re too afraid to admit that you’re a fag just like me.”

Carl sputtered, his eyes widening and his cheeks growing dark. He didn’t seem to have anything else to say. Physically, however, he knew _exactly_ how to respond. He reached his arm back and swung forward, landing his knuckles squarely on Combferre’s left eye.

Combferre let out an angry growl, pressing a hand to his eye for a moment before lunging forward and backhanding him as hard as he could, sending the boy to the ground. The moment he hit the floor, Combferre crouched down and used all of his energy to beat on him, alternating the level and velocity of his fists until Carl’s face was nothing more than a mess of blood.

Grantaire jumped towards Combferre and grabbed his arm, yanking him into a standing position. “Combferre, stop!” he yelled, grabbing Combferre’s other arm, wrapping his arms around Combferre’s chest when he tried to lunge for the boy again.

“Let me go!” Combferre exclaimed, moving his shoulders and trying to free his arms. “He spoke against Courfeyrac! Let me go!”

“Combferre, stop! You’re hurting him!”

“No! I need to help him!”

“Combferre! He’s gone!”

“No! I need to help him! Courfeyrac isn’t―he isn’t―”

. . . and just like that, Combferre’s wall shattered. He went limp in Grantaire’s arms, tears running down his cheeks and his breath shortening and coming out in gasps. Grantaire picked him back up, and pulled him to his chest. He looked at Enjolras, gesturing with his head towards the hallway. Enjolras nodded and followed him. Before he left, he apologized to Courfeyrac’s mother for the ruckus that Combferre had caused. Dr. Valjean came, as well.

Once the group was out of the house, Dr. Valjean pulled Enjolras to the side. “Mr. Macray, I’m going to allow you and Mr. Abram to ride back to the hospital with Mr. Halloway. He needs you two right now.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “And when you get back, I need to see you both in my office to discuss further treatment.”

Dr. Valjean walked away from Enjolras and headed towards his car. Enjolras, on the other hand, went across the street to a small park, where Grantaire and Combferre were sitting on a bench. Combferre was doubled over, crying harder than he had been before.

“He’s gone,” he moaned, putting his head on Enjolras’s shoulder the moment that he sat down. “The love of my life is dead, all because of me.”

Grantaire put a hand on his cheek and turned his head to face him. “Honey, it’s not your fault that Courfeyrac is dead. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes I did! I left the office unlocked, and he got the pills that killed him. If I hadn’t left it open, he would still be here!” He began to shake, his body wracking with sobs. “It’s all my fault. I love him so, so much, and now I will never get to see him again.” He covered his face with his hands. “Oh, God, he’s really gone.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, reaching an arm out to put on his back. Enjolras did the same, making sure that Combferre was wrapped securely in their arms.

It wasn’t much, but for now, it was all that they could do.

 

 

 

25

 

“All right, boys, it’s time that we discussed what the next step in your treatment is,” Dr. Valjean said, walking around his desk and sitting down in his chair. He leaned back and grabbed a plate of cookies from his bookshelf. He held it out to Enjolras and Grantaire.

Enjolras nodded, taking a cookie. He took a bite to see that they were snickerdoodles, which had always been one of his favorites. Grantaire did the same, slouching down and spreading his legs as he devoured one cookie and helped himself to a second one.

Dr. Valjean took one as well before beginning to speak. “Before we discuss that, though, I want to talk about Mr. Halloway. I have given him two weeks of paid vacation, but I am wondering if I should transfer him to a new hospital entirely. A good friend of mine has their own private practice, and I think that Mr. Halloway would be a nice fit there.”

Grantaire and Enjolras looked at each other for a moment before Grantaire answered. “I think that that would be a good idea, sir,” he said, eating yet another cookie. “I don’t think that Combferre will be able to focus on doing his job if he is constantly haunted by memories of Courfeyrac.”

Dr. Valjean nodded. “That is what I was thinking, too, but I figured that you two would know the answer better than I.” He turned to his computer, opening a document and typing something for a minute or so before turning back around. “All right, I have contacted my friend, and I will call Combferre at the end of the week.”

He stood up and went over to the dark gray file cabinet in the corner of the room. He unlocked the top drawer, reaching in and pulling out two folders, one of which was red and flimsy, and the other black and filled to capacity with documents. He came back to his desk and sat down, looking at the folders in contemplation for a moment before handing the red one to Grantaire, and the red one to Enjolras.

Dr. Valjean let the men glance through the documents for a moment before clearing his throat. “I have copies of all those documents on my computer if either of you would like to keep your folder for your own knowledge. Normally I do not disclose my notes and thoughts to my patients, but, Mr. Macray, in your case . . . I feel that having all the documents will help you more than they would in my file cabinet.”

“Thank you, sir.” Enjolras closed the folder and put it on the ground next to his foot. He definitely wanted to look through the documents, but he wanted to do it on his own time, at his own pace. He didn’t know if he was quite ready to have the full extent of his insanity thrown into his mind when he _just_ found out who he really was.

Grantaire, however, pulled his legs up onto the seat and crossed them before beginning to read through the papers. Dr. Valjean patiently waited for him to finish before speaking again. “Mr. Macray and Mr. Abrams, I have decided that this will be your last meeting with me, and that you both will be released back into the world as soon as we finish up this meeting here.”

Enjolras began to protest, but Dr. Valjean held a finger up to silence him. “Yes, Mr. Macray, before you ask, I already cleared this with your parole officer, and Judge Kendricks. You are a free man.” He turned back to his computer and pulled up a page. He scrolled through it for a moment before stopping and turning to his phone, picking up the receiver. “Mr. Abrams, I am going to call Ms. Thernardier to come and get you, and Mr. Macray, I am going to call your sister. Is that all right with both of you?”

Enjolras and Grantaire gave their consent.

Dr. Valjean nodded. “Good. You are free to go, then. It will probably be an hour or so before either of you are able to leave, so if you would like to return to your room, go right ahead. I will have Colin give you back your normal clothes and your other possessions so that you may change.”

He clicked one of the phone buttons, and a few minutes later, the military man was in the office, saluting Dr. Valjean and locking his hands behind his back. “You called for me, sir?”

“Yes, Colin, I need you to escort Mr. Macray and Mr. Abrams to lockup so that they may get their possessions ready for release.”

Colin nodded, and gestured for Grantaire and Enjolras to follow him.

Once both men had their clothes and their possessions, Colin sent them on their way back to their room. Grantaire and Enjolras walked side by side, a nervous silence settling over them.

Enjolras hated to admit it, but he was absolutely terrified about going home. He had grown so used to having Grantaire by his side immediately any time that he needed him, and he honestly had no idea about how their relationship would work once they were back in the real world. Would they be a real couple? Would they end up living together? Would they go back to their old corners of the world and forget that the other existed?

Even worse, how was Enjolras supposed to deal with his everyday life now that he knew that everything he thought he knew about himself was a lie. Was he supposed to stick with his name, or should he start using Michael again? Or would Enjolras suffice?

He wouldn’t be going back to his old crowd of friends, that much he knew for certain. He still felt strongly about the way that the world needed to change, but never again would he do something criminal. He had done enough of that in his past to last him the rest of his life.

Grantaire seemed to be reading Enjolras’s thoughts, and when they got back into the room and had shut the door, he wrapped his arms around Enjolras’s waist and pulled him into a deep kiss. “I love you,” he said, leaning their foreheads together and cradling Enjolras’s lower back. “I can’t wait to really be with you, starting today.”

Enjolras’s nerves disappeared, and his stomach was filled with flutters instead. “I love you too.” He moved a hand around to his back and interlaced their fingers, puling Grantaire’s hand away and leading him to the bed.

He pushed Grantaire onto the mattress on his side. He lied down so that he was facing him, their bodies only inches apart. Grantaire gave him a large smile, and wrapped an arm around his waist, letting his eyes drift shut. Enjolras shut his, as well.

 

***

 

The ride home from the Attley was by far one of the strangest experiences of Enjolras’s life. Claire had picked him up and taken him out to dinner, and he had spent an hour or so getting to know Brian, Claire’s fiancé. He helped them pick out a color for the baby’s room, and he even went to the bookstore so furnish his own room, but something still didn’t feel right. In his heart, he knew that Claire was his sister, and he knew that this was where he belonged. In his mind, however, he was among strangers.

It wasn’t until three nights later that Enjolras decided to pull the black folder back out. He sat it in front of him on the bed, staring at it, weighing the pros and cons of looking at the papers within.

If he read the file, he would know the answers to all of the questions that he still had about his life, and how he came to be the person that he was. He would know all about his childhood, and when people asked him about his favorite memories with his siblings, he would be able to answer honestly, based off the things that Dr. Jones and Dr. Valjean had recorded about him over the past two decades.

On the other hand . . . if he didn’t read the file, Enjolras would be able to make those kind of choices for himself. He could make new memories with Claire and Adam, and he could be the man that he had made himself into, rather than what his parents had molded him to be. He could love Grantaire without any doubt, and if he really wanted to, eventually he could include his parents back into their lives.

Enjolras made a decision.

He picked up the folder and opened the cover. He looked at the first line, then the second, then found a match and lit the stack on fire.

Screw documents. He was going to build his life, his way, and he wasn’t going to worry about a past that he couldn’t properly remember.

As he watched the papers burn, only one thought ran through his mind.

_Maybe fire isn’t so bad anyway._

 

Epilogue

 

July 26, 2021

_Six years later_

 

“Damn, Combferre, I always knew that you had it in you, but to get a perfect score on _everything_ in med school? I don’t know how the fuck you did you,” Grantaire said into his cell phone, lying back on Enjolras and his black suede futon, throwing his legs over the back of the couch.

Enjolras looked up from his laptop, rolling his eyes. He stood up and hit Grantaire’s feet, sending him flying to the floor in a heap. From the phone, Enjolras could hear Combferre laughing as Grantaire let out a string of angry words and phrases, cursing his husband. Enjolras stuck his tongue out and went back to work, looking through his text book for the answers to an outline that he had been working on for his final graduate class.

A few months after moving in with Claire, Enjolras decided that it was time for him to go back to school. He spend his undergrad studying Autism Studies before deciding to pursue a Master’s degree in Child Studies. He was working as a school councilor, a job that he never thought that he would be doing. He had also started an after-school program for children and parents that were dealing with their own mental illness, coping with someone else’s, or dealing with someone in their family abusing drugs. It was hard work, but it was most definitely worthwhile.

He had to admit, he loved his life.

Studying, however, not so much.

Enjolras pushed his laptop away before standing back up and walking towards the couch. Grantaire narrowed his eyes at him, but Enjolras gave him an apologetic smile before moving a pillow aside and settling in on his lap.

“Tell Combferre I say hello,” Enjolras muttered, adjusting the pillow so that his head was resting between Grantaire’s legs, rather than on top of them. “Don’t mention that I said he needs to get laid.”

“I heard that,” Combferre yelled through the speaker, causing Grantaire to flinch and Enjolras to chuckle. It had been an ongoing joke between the three of them ever since the first anniversary of Courfeyrac’s death, when Combferre had made the decision to spend his life celibate. He still truly believed that Courfeyrac had been the love of his life, and he didn’t want to share the bond that they had shared with anyone else.

He had even adopted a baby boy three years ago, and had made sure that he shared both Courfeyrac’s and his last name. He told Mickey stories about what an amazing man his Papa had been, and how proud he would have been to have such a wonderful son. He lined Mickey’s room with pictures of him and Courfeyrac, and made sure that he knew that his Papa was watching over him, Daddy, Uncle Enjolras, and Uncle Grantaire from Heaven.

It had been a struggle for Combferre to juggle both medical school and a young child, but when a young mother overdosed and left her son without any family, he knew that he had to give the little boy a home. Grantaire and Enjolras helped as much as they could, but with Enjolras in school, most of the work fell on Grantaire, but he didn’t mind. It led him to finding his own true passion, and he, too, went back to school to get his degree in Early Childhood Education.

As Grantaire and Combferre started to talk about Mickey’s first day of preschool, Enjolras began to doze off, his own mind wandering to the day when Grantaire and he would have a little one of their own. They had been talking about it for a while, but it never seemed like the right time.

Maybe the right time would happen soon. For now, though, Enjolras was happy just having his family, a job that he adored,  and the love of his life by his side.

He couldn’t ask for anything more.

 

###

 


End file.
